


Gone...

by Allonzy1998



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Big Brother Mycroft, Bondage, Bottom John, Brainwashing, Creepy Moriarty, Depression, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Drug Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Everything is going to be alright!, Fluff, Forced Crossdressing, Forced Marriage, Forced Orgasm, Forced Relationship, Heavy Angst, Heavy BDSM, Hurt/Comfort, Insanity, John Watson/Jim Moriarty - Freeform, M/M, Minor Character Death, Moriarty is Alive, No It won't!, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Ownership, Physical Abuse, Pining John, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Moriarty, Possessive Sherlock, Protective Mycroft, Protective Sherlock, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Sexual Abuse, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson - Freeform, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson/Jim Moriarty - Freeform, Slavery, Smut, Suicide Attempt, Thoughts of Suicide, Top Sherlock, Verbal Abuse, m/m - Freeform, non-con elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-09 16:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7809712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allonzy1998/pseuds/Allonzy1998
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He died two years ago, but his death still haunts me to this day. So many things left unsaid, so many feelings left untouched. Can I continue on this way, or will I too fade away from this world and be just another whisper in the wind. What am I really without Sherlock Holmes?"</p><p>Two years have passed since Sherlocks fall, and we find John only a shell of his former self. He has fallen into the deep pits known as despair and insanity due to the lost of his almost lover. What happens when it all becomes to much to bare and John begins to think of just ending it all. Will Sherlock finally make his appearance and save John, or will someone else, a devious and cunning man perhaps, get to him first? For John, the voices were only the beginning...</p><p>(Please read tags carefully before reading-there could very well be triggers in here)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Voices In My Head

**Author's Note:**

> .Hello! I hope every single one of you beauties enjoy this hard worked on fanfiction!  
> .If you do please leave a kudos, so I know to write more of its kind.  
> .If you want to comment (Please no hate) I also wouldn't mindXD  
> .But, all in all, I just want you to have fun and enjoy what you're about to read!  
> .And...
> 
> Sherlock: "Oh just get on with the story already!"  
> John: "Sherlock!"  
> *Sherlock looks at John in surprise.*  
> Sherlock: "What? A bit not good?"  
> John: "Yeah love, a bit not good."  
> Allonzy1998: "Ha, if only you knew what John was about to go through, you probably wouldn't be so eager Sherlock."  
> *Sherlock and John whips heads around.*  
> John: "W-what do you mean!?"  
> Sherlock: "What are you planning to do to my John, Devil Woman!?"  
> *Allonzy1998 smiles evilly*  
> Allonzy1998: "You'll see...MWAHAHAAHAH!"  
> *Sherlock and John sweatdrop.*
> 
> .Now, on to the story

**Drip**

' _Go away_ '

**Drip**

' _Why won't you just leave?_ '

**Drip.Drip**

"Just go away!" John screamed, as he threw the razor at his reflection, making blood splatter across the bathroom. He grabbed ahold of the counter edge, steading himself; streams of red flowing down his exposed forearms, pooling on the white top. John squeezed his eye's shut, willing the voices that had appeared, damning and tormenting him since Sherlock's death, to leave him alone. Usually, when he cut himself, they would fade; yet never entirely, they were always on the edges of his mind, ready to strike, although they did eventually disappear for a time. But today had been a particulary bad day; so many people asking if he was ok, so many letters from total strangers telling him that everything would be fine, and that they "knew" what he was going through, so many reminders of a past he just wanted to forget. And so the voices persisted, refusing to go back to the cornes of his shattered mind.

* _You could have saved him! You were a doctor for fucks sake! You worthless man!_ *

' _I-I couldn't have. He was gone before I got there._ '

* _ **Oh**! Making excuses now?! What a fool! Of course you could have! You were just too slow and stupid to get to him! You let our Sherlock **die**!_ *

' _No! Stop it! Just stop it!_ '

~ _That's enough, leave John be. It wasn't his fault that he wasn't intelligent enough to figure out what was happening untill it was too late. It's not his fault he wasn't able to save the forbidden love of our life. He's no Sherlock._ ~ 

John fell to his knees, his body becoming a bit to heavy to keep up, his head coming to rest against the counter top edge; the stream of blood backtracking, now going back towards the deep cuts along his inner arms.

* _Why should I!? He caused all of this! He should **hate** himself, as much as everyone else does! he should **regret** ever being born! He's **scum**! He let Sherlock **die** when it should have been him!_ *

' _S-stop..._ '

* _Shut Up! You have no right to say a thing, you worm!_ *

~ _As I said before, enough. Or are you trying to make him kill himself?_ ~ It asked, making John shudder, his hands tightened on the edge as he tried to ground himself.

* _Of course I'm trying to make him kill himself! He deserves it!_ *

~ _Ah, I see. I find no harm in that. At least when he does, he'll finally be back with our love, our Sherlock._ ~

* _Yeah, there's that too. But mainly beacuse he deserves it! It should have been him and not Sherlock anyway! **Kill** **yourself** you pathetic fool!_ *

' _N-no! Just leave me alone!_ ' John yelled at them mentally, fighting to stay upright; his body was starting to feel fuzzy.

~ _Oh come now Watson, don't you want to see our love, our Sherlock? It wouldn't take much, just a simple shot to the head, or a couple random handfulls of our medicne perhaps. Do it for Sherlock._ ~ The other one whispered softly. John's resistance wavered, but so did his strength.

' _I-I don't want to..._ ' He thought sadly as he lost his grip on the counter edge, quickly falling the rest of the way to the floor.

* _Of course you do **idiot**! We want to see Sherlock again, our love you let die! Take us to him!_ *

~ _I concur, take us to our love John, we want to see him. Take your life and we can do that. We can finally hear his baritone voice again, see his dark, curly hair-finally run our fingers through it, look into his undescribable eye's, do everything we missed out on when he was still here. Come on Watson, do it for Sherlock._ ~ John rolled onto his back, his eyes opening slowly and painfully. He stared at the hoary ceiling as it spinned and blurred.

"I-I can't. Please...j-just leave me be..." He muttered, his voice quiet and hoarse.

* _Yes you can! Do it!_ *

~ _Yes do it._ ~

' _No..._ "

* _Do it!_ *

~ _Do it._ ~

* _ **Kill** yourself!_ *

~ _Take us home._ ~

* _We want Sherlock, the one you let die!_ * John tried to ignore them, to ignore everything, he really did, but soon other voices joined, ones he didn't recognise and some he did.

+ _Do it_ +

- _Sherlock would wan't you too._ -

+ _You killed him!_ +

- _If only you had been quick enough_ -

^Y _ou could have saved him_ ^

And so many more, he's pretty sure he even heard Molly's voice in there somewhere, and Lestrades, and Moriarty's, and Mrs. Hudson's, and Mycroft's, and Harriet's, and Anderson's, and Donovans and Clara's, and even Irene's. The only absent one was of course the source of all this pain, Sherlock's. John couldn't take it anymore and he broke.

" **No, just leave me alone!** " He yelled as he brought his hands to his ears, grasping them tightly, trying to make the voices hush. He turned to his side, rolling up into the fetal position, wishing for all it to end, but not wanting to take the only seemingly inevitable path.

"Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone..." His voice softened into a whisper as his gaze darkened.

"Sherlock...I need you..." He whispered as he faded away, and, as he did, the voices faded with him.

 

.............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

 

John awoke hours later, still lying on the cold, tiled bathroom floor. The first thing that registered was his stiff muscles and a searing pain in his arms. He cringed as he realized what had happened; although, with his memories blurry, possibly due to his large amount of blood loss, it wasn't all that clear, but he was able to peice together a few things.

' _Why..._ ' He thought, his inner voice broken. After a moment he started to make his way up slowly, every part of him aching. Eventually he made his way to his knees and then, using the counter as levearge, up to his feet. Once he finally got there he looked at himself in the mirror, pausing at his reflection. He looked horrible, dark bags hung under his bloodshot eyes, his hair greasy and in need of a long over-due cut, face pale and practically lifeless. Then red caught his eye. He looked at the mirror closely and found specks of blood here and there, causing him to look down at the razor that had fallen after its collison with the reflective glass. John sighed as he then looked at his arms, old and fresh wounds mixed together to form a series of criss-crossed lines across the too-pale skin. Even after two years of Sherlock being gone, the consulting detective's death still ruled over John's mind and actions. After a moment of staring intenly at his wounds, John sighed leaning foward and turning on the water. He gently rinsed off some of the dried blood; he still had enough sanity left in him to at least fix himself up after an episode. Soon a thought ran through his mind as he cleaned his arms, turning the water pink as it ran down into the drain.

"I cut myself deep this time, I'm surprised I didn't bleed to death." He mumbled as he ran a soft finger over one of said cuts, pieces of dried blood washing away with the water that came with it.

' _It seems as if the blood dried over them causing them to clog up._ ' He continued his thought. After a moment he sighed, almost sadly.

' _It would've been easier..._ ' He quickly stopped that train of thought and shook his head, setting it spinning. he grabbed the edge of the counter to steady himself. After his brain settled he reached down, opened the bathroom counter, and pulled out a rag and the medicine kit, all the while ignoring what he had been about to think. He quickly cleaned and wrapped his wounds, didn't want to get an infection now did he. After that, he simply stared at his reflection, looking at the shattered shell of the man he use to be. So many, and yet no, thoughts ran though his mind as his eyes only become more and more intense.

"I **hate** you." He said under his breath, causing his reflection to scowl.

*~ _We hate you more._ ~*

It said back angrily, making John look away. He shuddered forcing himself not to lose it again-he didn't want the voices to come back. Then, with deft steps, he walked out of the bathroom, shutting the door quickly behind him. He leaned against the wooden frame and looked around the dusty flat; he wouldn't let Mrs. Hudson clean it, he couldn't, it was all he had left of Sherlock. He held back a whimper at the thought of Sherlock. If he could see him now, what he had become, he would be so dissapointed. But, John couldn't help it. He had fallen in love with Sherlock without even realizing it, and, while blind towards his feelings, he had lost him, losing the chance to tell Sherlock how he truly felt. And that hurt him, every fiber of his being felt regret and grief at what he had lost and what he had been too blind to see, to feel. It was so bad that John simply broke; he stopped caring about everything, his job, his friends, his very own life. He didn't know what had kept him together this long, certainly not his own will, that had disappeared a long time ago, the day he first gave in to the voices and began cutting to be precise. Maybe it was the thought of dying that simply kept him from doing just that. He had always been a fighter, and, even in this state, that ingrained instinct to **live** kept him **alive** , just as his ingrained instinct to heal had caused to him to fix the wounds he had inflicted upon himself. But, what ever it was, it seemed to be fading along with everything else, for every day it became harder and harder to **not** think about ending everything, to finally be with Sherlock again. It made him hurt all over again. As he stood there, in that old, dusty flat, John Watson couldn't help but shatter even more on the inside. He knew, if he didn't do something, he would soon die. He knew that without help, without Sherlock, he would give up what little resistance he had left and, like the voices, fade away. He hiccuped, trying to hold back his tears.

' _What have I become?_ ' He thought as he wrapped his arms around him, ignoring the pain that shot through him when he accidently rubbed against his cuts. Unable to hold back any longer, he let go and began to cry silently, his hand coming up, trying to wipe away the tears, but more only came.

"Why can't I stop thinking about it? About **him**? Why can't I get better?" He muttered sadly as he lowered his arm back around his body, giving up on hiding his show of weakness. He began walking, slowly and hesitantly, towards the living room, avoiding looking around the flat-all it would do would bring more memories and, with the state he was in, that would only make things worse. Soon he reached his red chair and sat down heavily, drawing his legs up and under him as he laid his head against the back. And there he sat and cried untill no more tears were left; he was left exhuasted and defeated. The last thought he had before he fell into a fitfull sleep being one of worry, but one easily dismissed as unconciousness overtook him once again.

' _Maybe I should put a long-sleeved shirt on...in case someone w-walks in..._ "

 

.............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

 

He heard voices, numerous ones, but, somehow, he could tell they were different then the ones that spoke to him in his mind. As his sleeping brain began to wake he became aware of more things, like the soft blanket that was now spread over him-he was certain he had fallen asleep uncovered. And the warmth that now filled the home, bringing the smell of a chimney fire with it-he usually kept the fire place unlit so the flat could stay cold-he didn't know why, it just felt wrong to do otherwise without Sherlock, it was both of theirs after all. After a moment, he had woken up enough to put all of it together causing him to sigh tiredly, he knew what was about to come. As he sighed all talk in the room stopped.

' _ **Damn** it I should have put a damned long-sleeved shirt on!_ ' He thought as he opened his eyes, looking at the chair directly across from him, Sherlock's chair. If he stared hard enough, he could almost imagine said detective sitting there, that mischievous smile on his face when a new, exciting case came in-almost. After a moment, John was broken out of his trance by a cough, most likely to grab his attention. He sighed once more, but sat up anyway, groaning slightly from his stiff muscles and sore arms. As he reached his destination he looked around and spotted all the people he had expected to see; Lestrade standing at the door way, leaning against the frame opposite him, Mrs. Hudson sitting on the couch, a tissue wet from recent tears in her hand, Molly and Clara on each side trying to comfort her, Harriet leaning against the far window, a cold air about her, and Mycroft sitting in a chair near the living room table. All staring at him with looks ranging from pity to dissipointment to outright anger. He sighed once more, discreetly hiding his arms further under the cover, even though he knew that, that was the reason why they were here.

"Yes? Is there something you all would like, or are you going to just sit there and stare at me all day?" He said hoarsly, coughing afterwards to clear his throat. Mrs. Hudson sniffed, and looked away, dabbing her eyes with her already throughly soaked napkin, making John's heart clinch tightly. He almost felt guilt at the jab, but didn't let it show, instead keeping his air of annoyance. Mycroft frowned and went to speak, but was cut off by a loud, angry, feminine voice.

"You damn prat! We get a call saying you're cutting yourself again, forcing us to come up here to help your self-pitying ass and all we get is some stupid defensive bullcrap! Stop with the shit John, for God's fucking sake!"

"Harriet!" Clara shouted as she jumped up, staring daggers at her use-to-be wife, turned girlfriend again, who, in turn, was staring daggers at John, her fist tight. Clara was about to continue but she was also cut off.

"Well you didn't have to come if you didn't want too **Harriet**. In fact none of you did, I would actually have perferred it that way. There was nothing wrong with me the last time you "helped" me, and there's nothing wrong with me now! You all wasted your time coming here. Now I suggest you leave, and take your "intervention" with you. I have more important things to attend to. " John said with a huff, turning away from everyone and looking into the fire intently, hoping they would just do as he asked. But, going along with his luck lately, they didn't, instead it just got a whole lot worse.

"Is one of these "important" things killing yourself John!?" Lestrade asked gruffly, causing the room to go silent with tension. John gritted his teeth in frustration.

' _ **Damn** , why didn't I put a fucking sweater on or something!_' He thought angrily, as he tried to come up with something to say to that, but was beaten to it by a calm and unflustered voice.

"I think what our associates are trying to say, Dr. Watson, is that you are in obvious need of help again and yet refuse it. They are simply worried for your well being, and wish to assure you are safe, even if they have little tact in showing such concerns." The one and only Mycroft Holmes said in his superior-than-you tone. John sighed angrily, allowing his annoynce to come out and cover his fear. He jumped up quickly, spinning around and glaring at the lot in front of him, Mycroft in particular.

"And what are you even doing here?! I'm not your friend, or even an "associate" of yours! The only reason I know you is beacuse of Sher...Sherlock, so don't sit there and act like you have any right to school me in matters that don't concern you! And the rest of you lot..." He shouted, turning back to the other people gathered.

"There.Is.Nothing.Wrong.With.Me! So I would appreciate it if you would just leave mine and Sherlock's flat, and leave **us** be!" He yelled angrily, as every one, except Mycroft of course, stared at him in shock.

"You say there is nothing wrong with you and yet your defensive attitude would suggest otherwise. Not only that, but the recent slef-inflicted cuts that are quite apparent on your forearms and the blood splattered bathroom containg a bloody razor, I really doubt I need to go into detail there, and the fact that you just referred to the flat as your's and Sherlock's, showing that you still believe this to be my late brother's home even after two years of his passing, all prove that you are far from ok Dr. Watson." Mycroft said swiftly, his eyes piercing. His words and there meaning caused John's anger to shrivel up and die as he realized just how much everyone knew.

' _ **Damn** , I should have put a sweater on and cleaned my bathroom._' He thought tiredly. He had believed he could throw them off his trail by feigning annoyance and pretending to have no idea as to what they were talking about, but he should have known better, ecpecially with Mycroft there. Yet, even realizing that, he still couldn't stop one more attempt at it.

"That still doesn't explain why your here, I'm still not your friend." He said through clenched teeth, making Mycroft squint in annoyance.

"Really Doctor?" He said in exasperation, knowing exactly what he was trying to do, but ended up shrugging any way.

"Fine, I guess I'll indulge you. I am here because you were important to my late brother and I, wanting to give him as much solace as I can wherever he may now be, wish to see you back to your full state of glory. There, satisfied? Now please try to be honest from here on out Dr. Watson, it will make things move a lot more quickly." He said imperiously. John simply scowled and sat back down heavily, knowing he had been defeated. Although, in all honesty, being beaten had been happening a whole lot more often nowadays. Taking that as a sign of acceptance, Mycroft nodded his head.

"Good. Now lets see how far you have fallen Dr. Watson. Last time this happend you had been feeling sad, distant, guilt-ridden, and lonely which caused you to begin harming yourself, cutting being one of them, obvious sign's of depression. I do know we where able to treat you for a while, but it seems to have ended up a failed attempt. So, there has either been a new development, or you were never completely honest with us to begin with. It also depends on if you've been taking your medicine, but from the look in your eye's I would say not, either because they didn't work or because they caused a negative affect you couldn't stand." He said pointedly. John narrowed his eyes.

"You mean the ones you guys practically forced me to take? The same ones that made me confused, sometimes not even being able to remember my own name, and out-of-it for days on end,?" He asked in a low voice.

"Well, I guess that answers that question. What did you do with all of it?" Lestrade piped up from his place at the door, causing John to shrug.

"Don't know, guess I lost sight of it." He answered tiredly, avoiding everyones gaze.

"I see, I'll have people come by later to search around for it. There's no use for it to be just sitting around. Now back to my earlier assesment..." Mycroft began, but was cut off by a gruff voice.

"What? Afraid i'm going to find it and try to overdose or something?" John asked angrily, his teeth clenched defensively. Mycroft gave him a hard stare and cleared his throat.

"No, i'm more worried about you bleeding to death than I am of you overdosing actually." He said coldly, making John cringe on the inside. But on the outside he simply huffed and turned away roughly.

"What ever." He said quietly, not really feeling up to arguing with Mycroft. Said Holmes brother recongized the defeat in his tone and took it as it was.

" **Now** , as I said before, back to my earlier assesment. I belive that it is not just the abscence of your prescribed medication that has brought back your disorder at such a rate, but either some new deveoplment has taken place or there is something you did not tell us the first time around. I'm willing to bet on the latter Dr. Watson, you **are** the sort to downplay this type of thing. Always have to show strength, and never any weakness untill you have no will power left at all. So tell me doctor, how weak have you become?" Mycroft asked coldly, staring John down, making said soldier grimace. He looked away and swallowed thickly, but knew it was time to let his friends, his family, truly know how far off the rails he had gone. Last time he had been successful in hiding the fact that he was hearing, and sometimes seeing, things. Things that made him want to hurt himself, things that just wouldn't leave him alone no matter how hard he tried. He took a deep breath and stilled himself, looking up and trying to find the one person in the room who he might be able to ground himeslf too, he wouldn't be able to say what needed to be said if done otherwise.

' _Mrs. Hudson-no she would be so upset, I couldn't bare to look at her. Harriet-yeah, **no** , definitely not; all I'd get would be anger. Clara-just no, not her. Lestrade-not him either. Mycroft-hell no, the prat. M-Molly-maybe her, I-I could do that._' He thought as his gaze flickered from one person to the other, settling on the use-to-be shy women. As he looked at her he made up his mind. She was the only one, out of all the rest, that really knew what he was going through. Of course the rest knew he was in deep water, but Molly, she understood. She knew what it was like to love Sherlock Holmes and yet never be able to have him, she knew what it was like to want some one who was gone. And so he looked her in the eyes and took a deep breath. Everyone stared at him intently, eyeing the look between the two, not knowing and yet understanding the depth of their unsaid conversation. And then Molly nodded as if she had read his mind, making John release his long, pent-up breath.

"E-ever since I lost...S-Sherlock, I-I've been **hearing** things." He said quietly, never losing eye contact with Molly. She, in turn, softened her gaze.

"And what have these things been John?" She asked in her quiet voice. John gulped but was determined to push through, he still refused to look away. Molly was the only thing that was keeping him here in this moment, she was what he had foucsed on, and, if he looked away, he knew the voices would be waiting for him. It was always that way when he mentioned Sherlock dying or of the severity of his own illness; like a switch in his brain clicked on at the mention of them, letting the voices roam freely in his shattered mind. So he focuesd, unwilling to let the voices take him, he needed to get this out, because, no matter how low he had fallen, he still did not want to die, deep down he still wanted to live.

"They are voices. Voices of people I know, and some I've never even heard before. " He said softly, his body starting to tremble. Molly nodded her head slowly, trying to bring comfort to him.

"A-and what do these voices tell you?" She asked, cringing on the inside at accidently stuttering, her emtions were starting to get the best of her. This was John for goodness sake. The ex-military doctor who could break every bone in your body while naming them, the same man who saved more lives than she could count, the same man who had been able to not only deal with Sherlock Holmes, but had also been able to turn him from a high-functioning sociopath to a semi-decent high-functioning human being. And now he was reduced to nothing, the man that had achieved so much, who was beloved by so many, was broken without Sherlock. As his defensive mask left him, she could see how far gone and shattered he was inside, and it hurt her. John was one of her few friends, even though they rarely talked nowadays, but John hardly talked to anyone anymore, and she couldn't stand to see him likes this.

' _Why did you have to leave Sherlock?_ ' She thought sadly.

' _John needs you now more than ever._ ' She finished as she saw John take another deep breath, it was clear he was trying hard to get this out.

"T-they..." He flinched as he heard a murmur, barely there, fighting to break free, to stop him.

"They tell me it's my...f-fault Sherlock...died. And that If I had only been...quick and smart enough I could have saved him. They say I should...kill myself, becuase it should have been me and not h-him. And sometimes I think their...right, what good am I to this world? Sherlock was the one who solved the cases and put the evil people behind bars, I was just the one who followed along behind him and nothing more. It should have been me." He said miserably, tears welling up in his eyes. He was trying to fight them, but what little strength he had left was waning and he was barely holding on. Everyone in the room, even Mycroft, shuddered or tensed up at his words. They all knew it was bad, but this was more than even they had expected.

"I did not know it was this serious, if I had than I would have done something sooner." Mycroft said quietly, talking to himself more than anyone else. John heard him and accidently lost eye conatct with Molly as he instinctively glanced towards Holmes. He gasped and quickly looked back, but it was already lost, the voices piped up the minute he looked away.

* _ **Ha**! you idiot! Shouldn't have done that, now we're here and we're not going anywhere!_ *

~Y _es, I would much like to have a chat with you since our earlier one was cut rather short._ ~

They annouced; John tried to ignore them, but still flinched a tiny bit.

"U-um, w-what do you mean? What are you planning to do?" He asked quietly, trying to not let his inner distress show. He knew what he needed, but everyone was there and he was certain they would not let him harm himself just to stop the voices.

' _ **Shut up!** Just leave me alone!_ ' He shouted at them in his mind, forcing himself to stay calm. Mycroft lowered his eyes, sensing something off about John's turn of behavior. He was acting a little too fine, and yet his body was tense, his eyes trying to focus too hard. He brushed it off as nerves, but decided to keep an even closer eye on him during the course of their conversation.

"I believe your disorder has grown much further than anyone anticipated, and that you are now a danger to yourself even more than before. You probably use to cut so as to make the voices go away, as most do in your situation-its a way of gaining control, but now its gotten far worse. You cut deeper and more often-suggesting that the voices are getting stronger, and that they will soon over-power you, leading you to kill yourself, to be frank. I think it is time to take you to a place that can help you." Mycroft said evenly. John tensed at that, cringing heavily as the voices piped back up. Everyone narrowed their eyes at this, suspicon obvious in their eyes.

* _Their trying to take you away from ours and Sherlock's home! The bastards! We can't let them do that! Tell them to piss off!_ *

~ _I agree Watson. We simply cannot let them take us away from here. It's all we have left of our love._ ~

John let out a small whimper without meaning too, making everyones suspicion grow even further. He quickly cut off the small sound and sat up straighter.

' _For once I **actually** agree with you._ ' John thought, he just couldn't let them take him away.

"Piss off! Your planning on putting me in a loony bin! Well to bloody hell with that! I'm not going anywhere with you, and you can go and stick that where the sun don't shine Mycroft!" John shouted angrily, as he stood up, pointing an accusing finger at said man. The individual in question simply stared at John calmly.

"Is that what the voices told you to say?" He asked as if John hadn't simply told him to go fuck himself. The army doctor was at a lost for words at the moment, even the voices froze for a second, unable to come up with a good comeback to that, so Mycroft continued.

"Well, either way, it is not up to you Dr. Watson. I have observed enough to know that you are no longer able to live on your own. You are a danger to yourself and therefore I have no other choice but to put you somewhere where you can recieve the proper help you need. Don't worry, I will make sure to find you the best possible hospital, and, once you have proven you are capable of living a healthy lifestyle again, you can return back to 221B Baker Street if you wish." He said calmly, eyeing the growing frustration on John's face.

* _The bloody wanker! You can't let him take us away from here! You must stop him!_ *

~ _Yes, I concur! Tell him something, anything, that will get him to let us stay!_ ~

* _Do something!_ *

~ _Hurry!_ ~

* _Stop just standing there John! You stupid idiot!_ *

~ _You must figure something out!_ ~

The voices kept on going and going, causing John to grow more frustrated each passing second. He was trying to come up with a reasonable arguement, but he couldn't think straight with them constantly yelling in his ears.

" **I'm trying!** " John yelled out suddenly, it took him a moment to realize he had accidently said that out loud as he saw everyone staring at him in shock and sadness.

"U-um, I-I mean...no. No, i'm not leaving, and you can't make me." He said as a way to distract them from his earlier outburst, although they all knew what it meant, the voices were here. Mycroft quickly let it pass, knowing he just needed to get John to a hospital first, then he could work on fixing what ever was wrong with him. If he had been able to bring his brother out of the dark hole of addiction, then he could certantly bring back the good doctor from depression.

"That is simply not an option Dr. Watson. And if you do not comply willingly, then I will have to use force, and that is something that, even if I detest it, have no problem in doing. Do not forget that I have considerable power in our government, and have the ability to do as I see fit." He said calmly, making John grit his teeth-he could find no way out of this, so he deicided to beg. He lowered his glare and looked down at the ground.

* _Yes, do what ever you have to, to stop this! Even if it means losing your pride!_ *

~ _Make him let us stay! He has no right to take us from here!_ ~

"Please Mycroft. T-This place is all I have left of Sherlock. You can't take us...I-I mean me away from here. Please let me stay." He begged, ignoring the disgust that ran through his body. He looked back up as Mycroft lowered his eyes.

"No." He said simply. John trembled, staring at Mycroft in obvious confusion, not knowing what to do next. The eldest Holmes brother could tell the doctor wanted to stay, but he knew he needed to get him out of here if he were to survive. For, if he did not leave, he would surely die.

"I think it would be good for you to get away for a little bit mate..." Lestrade began only to be cut off by the tense voice of John.

"If you take me away from here, then i'll kill myself for sure." He said bitterly.

"I will not let you take me away from here. It's all I have left of Sherlock, and I refuse to give it up." He finished, staring at Mycroft, eye's filled with anger. Said indivdual simply took it in strides as he looked back up at the stricken man. 

"I am truly sorry John, I have no other choice. You cannot stay here any longer, it only makes your condition worse. Now prepare your things, we leave immediately. Gregory, could you please go and help him." Mycroft said, rather than asked. Greg read the underlining meassage-keep an eye on him, and nodded.

"Lets get to it John, might as well get it done with." He said standing up straight, John simply kept staring at Mycroft.

* _Their taking us away! Stop them!_ *

*~ _Stop them Watson! We can't leave this place! It's all we have left of our love!_ ~*

"Ill never forgive you for this. Any of you. And you! Shut up already! Don't you see I'm trying" He hissed angrily, slipping once again as he shouted at the voices. Everyone sighed, but kept their composure.

"I'm sure one day, you will see why this had to be done Dr. Watson. Tell me, wouldn't Sherlock have done the same?" He asked, quietly. That caused John to stop for a second, it even shut the voices down again.

"Fuck you!" He shouted angrily after he regained his train of thought, Mycroft knew he had hit a nerve. As John began to storm out, Holmes called out to him one last time.

"John you mustn't let the voices control you like this. They are not real, and they have no true power over you, only that of which you give them. Sherlock believed you were strong enough to deal with things like this, and so shall I. Please try not to prove him wrong, you know how he detested that sort of thing." He said in an unusually non-pompus voice.

"Piss off Mycroft." John hissed through gritted teeth, he was fighting back a new wave of tears-he didn't want anyone to see how much his words affected him.

"I'm only stating the facts John." He responded, even using his first name to show his seriousness.

"I don't care." John said simply, before heading upstairs quickly, Greg right behind him after he gave a small, sad shrug of his shoulders towards Mycroft. Who, in turn, gave him a curt nod. Mycroft then turned to those left in the room and coughed to grab their attention; they all seemed to be lost in their own world. After they looked at him he began.

"I'll be taking Dr. Watson to the best possible hospital, but, until he gets better I will continue to pay the rent here Mrs. Hudson. I assure you he will be back to the John Watson we know, and, when he does, he will most likely want to come home." He said matter of factly. Mrs. Hudson nodded.

"Oh trust me dear, I wasn't doing anything with this flat. This is and always will be John's and Sherlock's home, even when they leave. They are my boys after all." She said softly, tears glistening in her eyes. Mycroft nodded, then a small movement caused him to look over at Molly. She motioned with her head for him to follow her, as she stood up.

"I think I might go get a breath of fresh air for a bit, need to clear my mind." She said as she quickly left. After a moment Mycroft also stood.

"I must make some calls, please excuse me." He said simply as he left. As soon as he shut the front door behind him, Molly was next to him, giving him a stern look.

"Why can't we just tell him?" She said angrily, making Mycroft narrow his eyes.

"You know **why** Miss Hooper. If John were to find out, he would undoubtfully go looking for him, leaving himself open to great danger." He said back evenly, making Molly glare at him.

"But John's already in great danger. He's practically pronounced himself dead already, what harm could telling him that Sherlock's still..." Molly began, but was cut of with a growl from Mycroft.

"You were intrusted with highly classified information Miss Hooper, I do expect you to keep quiet about it-you never know who is watching. And, about John, he cannot, and will not know about this untill the time is right; do you understand?" He said coldly, making Molly's glare harden even more.

"Your going to get him killed, does Sherlock know that?" She hissed. Mycroft only stared.

"He will not die Molly, I assure you. I made a promise to my brother before he...left us and I intend to keep it." He said quietly. Eventually Molly nodded her head in understanding.

"You better, because, if anything happened to him..." She started.

"Yes, yes I know. I do recall Sherlock making you promise as well to keep an eye on John before his fall. Do not forget I agreed to the same thing. I only have John's best interest in mind." He said simply. Molly nodded again.

"I just wish this would end soon." She said wishfully.

"As do I Miss Hooper..."

"Mycroft!" Came Clara's frantic voice, as the front door came flying open, cutting of said man mid-sentence. Both turned quickly, Mycroft swiftly deducing what had happened.

"John took off." He stated rather than asked, making Clara nod; she had gotten use to his almost super human deductions these last few years, so it didn't faze her much now.

"Yes, we heard a bit of a rustle up stairs and went to find out what was going on. Once we were there we found Greg unconcious on the floor, while the window was wide open, and John no where to be found." She said quickly, her eyes filled with worry.

"Let me guess, there was a fire escape at his window wasn't there?' Molly asked, her tone scared; Clara nodded.

"We have to do something, before John does something rash." She said, strating to freak out. Both women turned to Mycroft, who hadn't said a word this entire time; both started in surprise to see a hard gleam in his eyes.

"I'm not worried about John hurting himself, more than someone else doing so." He said coldly, turning around and pulling out his phone; Molly went rigid.

"What do you mean Mycroft. Who's going to hurt him?" She asked in confusion. Mycroft didn't anwer as he typed off a few, quick messages to god knows who. Once that was done he turned and gave Molly a hard look.

"An old enemy, back from the dead. This time though, his eyes seemed to be set on our dear dcotor and not my younger sibling." He said coldly. Both woman looked shocked and horrified.

"Moriarty!?" Molly asked incrediously.

"B-But I thought he died." Clara said in confusion, Mycroft sighed tiredly.

"Yes, but there have been new developments. And, I must say, I have not been entirely honest with you as of yet. But we don't have time for that now, we must find John before Moriarty does." He said as he turned and marched up the stairs. It seemed he had a little leg work to do.

 

.............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

 

John walked briskly down the alley way, hugging himself to stay warm in the cold, night air.

* _You idiot, why did you leave! We won't be able to go back now! What if we never get to be in our home again?! Idiot._ *

' _I-I just needed time to think. I have to figure out what to tell Mycroft so he'll let us stay._ ' He argued, frantically trying to figure out what to do. His mind was going a mile a minute, he had just blind-sided Lestrade, knocking him out with a quick punch, then he had ran down the fire escape without any plan what-so-ever! He just needed to get out of there for a moment, a moment just to think.

~ _What if we don't go back? Why not just go straight to Sherlock instead? Once we step foot in our home, that bloody wanker will put us in a loony bin, and we'll never see it again. And, not only that, if we do get put away, we'll never get the chance to end it so that we can see Sherlock again. We will never get this chance again. Do it John, before it's too late._ ~

* _Yeah John, he's right. Do it now, they already took what was left of Sherlock, what else do you have to live for?_ * John gulped, he knew he shouldn't, he knew it was wrong, but he agreed with them. He walked for a while, unable to make sense of his situation. 

  
' _I-I don't know...I..._ ' He thought as he took a left and then a right, not really looking where he was going, just trying to get away from it all.

* _Oh **come** on! Just bloody do it all ready!_ * The voice yelled, making John jump. As he did he came to a sudden stop.

~Hey, look where we're at.~ 

The other voice said softly, causing John to look around for the first time. Once he did though, his heart nearly stopped right then and there. It was the one place he never wanted to go back too, the place where he first met the love of his life and place where he lost him: St. Barts Hospital. John's breath quickened as memories suddenly flashed in his mind; Sherlock and him laughing together, the thrill of being near the deep voiced man, the way Sherlock would pout when John wouldn't let him have cigarettes, how his voice cracked when he was saying goodbye to him via phone, and the way he flailed around as his body rushed towards the hard concrete. So many memories filled his brain, so much so all he could see was Sherlock, and what he had lost the day of the fall. He started panicking and fell to his knees-he couldn't catch his breath, what was even real anymore, did his body hurt this badly before, maybe his voices were right, maybe it was time to let it go...

"Oh Johnny-boy. Seems like someones having a iwty-bwity panic attack. Here, maybe **this** will calm you down." Came an eerily familar Irish lilt. But John didn't really notice, he was too far gone. He didn't even feel the tiny telltale sign of a needle pricking his skin. But, as his consciousness started to fade, one thing did register to him.

"Don't worry my new pet, I'll fix what Sherlock broke." He heard faintly just before his mind left him completely.


	2. Mine!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Moriarty reveals his intentions for John to said person, and makes it quite clear he only wants to "help" his new pet. *Mycroft has to find out what happened to John, and to do so he has to finally let the truth out.  
> *Mycroft eventually has to break bad news to his brother, who, lets just say, does not take it well.
> 
> Warning: LLLLOOOOTTTTSSSS (lots) of cussing in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .Hello my beauties! I have decided to update when I want to update and not stay on a schedule-I just could NOT do the once every other week thingXD  
> .Ok, there is a lot of cussing in this chap and some kind of rapey vibes going on, so be warned.  
> .Please enj....
> 
> .Sherlock: "How dare you do this to John!"  
> .Allonzy1998: "W-what do you mean?"  
>  *Sherlock stalks up to Allonzy1998 angrily.*  
> .Sherlock: "I was able to get a sneak peak of this chapter, and to say I am appalled is frankly an understatement."  
> *Allonzy1998 sweatdrops.*  
> .Allonzy1998: "You read chapter two!?"  
> .Sherlock: "I sure did! Now you're gonna pay for putting John through what you did!"  
> *Allonzy1998 takes a step back."  
> Allonzy1998: "Well that's my cue to leave."  
> *Allonzy1998 turns and takes off running.*  
> Sherlock: "Get back here woman!"  
> *Sherlock takes off after ALLonzy1998*
> 
> .Now where was I, oh yeah! Please Enjoy chapter two!

~PREVIOUSLY ON GONE...~

"Oh Johnny-boy. Seems like someones having a iwty-bwity panic attack. Here, maybe **this** will calm you down." Came an eerily familiar Irish lilt. But John didn't really notice, he was too far gone. He didn't even feel the tiny telltale sign of a needle pricking his skin. But, as his consciousness started to fade, one thing did register to him.

"Don't worry my new pet, I'll fix what Sherlock broke." He heard faintly just before his mind left him completely.

 

...............................................Now on Gone...........................................................................................................................................

 

Hours later, John awoke-his head fuzzy as his weakened body attempted to fight off the affects of the drug. He tried to move but found he was tied down to something, rather tightly too if he might add. He raised his aching neck and looked around, finding himself in a small, concrete room. There was a door directly in front of him but, other than that, nothing else resided there, not even an air vent. He continued to look around at his surroundings, but didn't really take stock of his situation-whoever it was could do whatever they wanted to him, he had already given up the moment he had found himself in front of that accursed building known as a hospital. He registered that he was tied down to a metal chair which seemed to be bolted to the floor-wasn't very comfortable but John didn't mind, nothing mattered anymore, he was just done and wanted to be with Sherlock again. He laid his head back, looking at the ceiling in a stupor. How long he stayed like that, he wasn't sure, could have been hours or even a few seconds, he was just so tired. Then the sound of a door squeaking open roused him from his thoughtless daze. He looked up slowly, his neck protesting stiffly from the movement. As he glanced at the source of the sound his eyes raised in surprise, but he wasn't too shocked at what he found in front of him. He had, had some idea as to who was behind all of this, even if said person was suppose to be dead. Moriarty stood there in his full, cold glory, dressed just as posh as the last time John had seen him. His hands were held behind his back in a relaxed manner, a twisted smile rested on his collected face. John sighed tiredly, and turned away, not wanting to look at the psychopath in front of him. 

"What do you want Moriarty?" He asked, his voice hoarse from disuse. He heard a slight chuckle.

"What? No 'Hello Moriarty', 'It's been along time', 'How are you still alive'? Oh come ooooonnnnn Johnny-boy, you disappoint me." Came the verging on delirious, Irish voice. John simply shrugged, making another chuckle rumble throughout the small room.

"Oh my, Sherlock really did a number on you didn't he loooovvvveeee!?" Moriarty dragged on as he walked in, shutting the door behind him swiftly. John didn't even react to his taunting's, barely even registering that Moriarty was getting close to him, too close.

"I don't even have to break you, do I!? Sherly, already did it for me." He suddenly whispered into John's ear lowly. This time, John did react, but was stopped by a tight grip on his chin, keeping his head pointing away from the madman. In this position his situation hit him like a truck, but he still didn't feel anything-no fear, no anger, no sadness, just a tired, crushing weight in his heart and head. 

"If your going to kill me Moriarty, just do it. There's no need for all the theatrics." He said gruffly, making said man grin evilly. 

"Oh no Johnny...I'm not going to kill yoooouuuu, I'm just going to make you mine." He said, with an unhinged giggle. John, sighed, just so very tired.

"Why? What am I to you, if Sherlock's dead? Why won't you just kill me?" He asked, his tone defeated and low, making Moriarty grin.

"Just because Sherly's no longer with us, bless his soul, doesn't mean I can't play with his favorite pet." He said, his warm breath ghosting over John's ear. 

"Tell me John. Do you want me to kill you? Do you want to die, or is it the voices telling you that?" He said, the smirk obvious in his voice. John simply sat there, his eyes staring at nothing.

"Oh John, your so shattered-I love it." He said in a low voice, taking John's silence as an answer. He flicked out his tongue, licking the ex soldier's ear slowly. John shivered slightly, the feeling of that warm appendage catching him by surprise, the firm hand still on his chin again keeping him from moving. 

"You know Jooohhhnnnn, I could stop them." He said quietly, his face moving down towards John's exposed neck. Said doctor froze at this, his already sluggish brain slowing down even more.

"W-what do you mean?" He asked finally, his breath becoming ragged and jumpy, he didn't know what was happening to him.

'What am I doing?' He thought suddenly, only to stop thinking when he felt something warm touch his neck. Moriarty kissed the skin softly, grinning as he felt John freeze once more.

"I mean..." He paused for a second, nipping John's pale neck.

"...I can make the voices go away. I can make you feel so much better." He said lowly.

"Don't you want that John? To not hear those mean, little people in your head, to not have all those pesky memories in your mind? I could make everything feel so good." He finished, kissing John's neck again. Said man, shivered barely able to comprehend what he was hearing.

"Just say yes, and I'll make it all go away."  Moriarty continued after a moment. 

"I-I..." John tried to get out, his mind in tangles. He had been so sure there was no hope, that he was stuck with these voices until the end, stuck with all of these memories. But now here was someone telling him there was actual hope-it didn't even cross his mind that this someone was Jim Moriarty.

"I'll take that as a yes." Moriarty giggled as he reached into his pocket, letting go of John's chin suddenly as he stood up straight. John, in turn, finally looked back at Moriarty slowly, unsure of what he was about to do. He didn't want to believe in what he was saying, but deep down hoped it was true, that there was something, anything, that could save him from what he had become. Jim eyed John as he pulled the contents of his pocket out and into the doctors view. In his hand he held a rubber band and syringe filled with an unknown, clear liquid. John's eyes widened in shock-he had not expected that.

"N-no...I d-don't...want that..." He began, swallowing thickly. The doctor side of him still having a tiny hold on his sanity-he knew that whatever was in that shot, was not something that could have any good affect on his body. Moriarty smirked and grabbed the syringe with his other hand, holding it between fingers as he examined it carefully. 

"Oh my dear solider, I really think you do." He said with a laugh as he looked back at John; his eyes cold and calculating with just a hint of insanity. Then, faster than he could realize, Moriarty sat on John's lap, each leg coming to rest on either side of his thighs, his face fairly close to his own.

"Don't worry John, you'll love it-trust me." He whispered as he slipped the band around John's upper arm, creating a tight tourniquet, all the while keeping his gaze locked with his prey's. John's breaths quickened, a small part of his mind, the tiny piece of him that was still sane, still fighting, telling him this was wrong, that he should be struggling, that he should, under no circumstances, allow this madman to inject whatever was in that shot into his body. But the other part of his mind, the one filled with voices, with despair, with loss, yearned for it, told him it would be alright, that this is what he needed. In the end, the insanity won. With one last, shuddering breath, John stopped fighting-he couldn't do it anymore, he was just so tired. Moriarty smiled gleefully as he saw the surrender in John's eyes. He quickly took the prepared syringe and slipped it into John's skin, and, just as he pushed down on the plunger he pressed his lips onto John's and kissed him passionately, forcing his tongue as far down his throat as he could, and, to his utter delight, John began to kiss back just as harshly.

John felt a warm heat fill him as the chemical rushed throughout his body, and then he felt nothing at all, only the pure bliss of oblivion. 

A hot heat registered on his lips and it felt so amazingly good, better than anything he had ever experienced before, and so he cherished it. He ran his tongue over it, bowing to its dominance as it pushed past his lips and started searching his mouth wantonly. He wanted nothing, felt nothing but the bliss in his body, the quiet in his head, and the wet heat that now engulfed his lips in heavenly fire. Why hadn't he done this sooner, what had held him back from this beautiful nirvana? Why was he so upset in the first place, because, for the life of him he couldn't remember. All he wanted now, all he needed, was the feeling of utter calm and blissful heat that Moriarty had brought him. 

John moaned and Moriarty nearly lost the last of his control he had as he molested his pets mouth with his tongue, tasting everything John and loving it. He had dreamt about this day for such a long, long time and now it was finally here, and he was barely holding onto the small amount of will power he had left to not take his love right then and there; it was not yet time for that. As Moriarty pulled the used syringe out of Johns arm and threw it on the floor, his other hand slid onto his doctors arm, soon running up the pale appendage to his shoulder and then up that sinful neck and into that beautiful, sandy hair, gripping it tight, deepening the heat-filled kiss. This love, this obsession, he had with John had started out as a simple plan to terrify Sherlock Holmes out of hiding, but, over time, had grown into something so much more. All the hours, days, months, of watching this beautiful creature battle with his inner voices and insanity had caused a desire to grow within Moriarty, a desire to own the man, a desire to taste, feel, love him, to cherish him, and make him his and not Sherlock's. He growled at the thought of the consulting detective. Of course he was still doing this to bring out that little pest, but there were definitely some other...ulterior motives in his plan. He wanted John, and he was going to have him. He didn't belong to Sherlock anymore, he belonged to him now. With that thought he pulled his tongue back into his mouth, biting down hard on John's lip, drawing blood. John gasped but in a good way. In his blissful haze, the bite felt like heaven; making his body catch on fire in the best way. Moriarty lapped up the red liquid, soon peppering kisses and bite marks down John's chin, over his jaw and down towards his neck, where he stopped and sucked at the delicate skin, leaving a dark hickey. 

' _I'll show everyone who you belong to John_.' He thought as he started nipping at the bruised skin, soon all out biting it, again drawing blood. John cried out, his body going rigid with pure pleasure-everything just felt so fucking good, and he could barely stand it. Moriarty smirked at John's reaction, loving all the little sounds his love made. He straightened up, looking at John's face, his eyes were closed, his breathing ragged and irregular making him look so fucking delicious. Said man whimpered at the lost of heat, but it quickly dissipated as the drug once again filled his head and made him miss nothing. Moriarty giggled at this, looking at everything that was John, his John. He laid his forehead on John's, looking over every detail he possibly could, he wanted to leave nothing out about his love.   

"Oh, the things i'm going to do to you my pet..." He whispered, his breath fanning over John's face, but going unregistered by the drugged man. Moriarty closed his eyes and just sat there in that quiet, enjoying the feeling of John under him, he just couldn't wait until he could finally have all of him.

"But that will have to wait. It is not time, but soon my pet, soon." He said with a grin as he opened his eyes and gave John one last look, before standing up and stretching slightly. How long had he sat there? He didn't know, with John he just lost all track of time. 

"I'll be back soon my pet, sadly there are other things I must attend to at the moment. But, fear not I will be back soon, and I'll bring some more medicine with me too-don't want those pesky voices coming back now do we?" He said laughing at the word medicine. He turned around and meant to walk out, when a thought seemed to strike him.

"Oh wait! I almost forgot..." He began as he turned back to the trussed up John, pulling out his phone easily.

"I have to get a picture before I go, there's a certain someone who would just loooovvvvveeeeee to see this!" He said excitedly as he thumbed through his apps, coming to rest on the camera setting.

"Say cheese, love!" He said with a smirk as he pointed the phone at John, snapping a picture quickly, making sure the still-bleeding bite mark on John's neck and the trail of hickey's leading up to the other bit mark on his kiss-swollen lips were clearly visible. 

"Oh Sherlock's going to love this! This will totally send him the right message, right my pet!?" He asked coldly, but receiving no response. He shrugged indifferently, once again thumbing through his phone, to his contacts, then to the one number he was looking for. Hitting send, Moriarty grinned wickedly. In almost an instant he received a reply back.

***You let John go right now or I swear I will hunt you down and destroy you. -SH**

Moriarty smirked evilly as he read the message. He turned around once more, quickly opening the door and stepping through it, closing it again behind him. With deft steps, he began walking down the long hallway, sending a text on the way

***I'd like to see you try sweet heart;) -JM**

He smirked as he felt another quick message pop up on his phone.

***If you touch him again, it will be the last thing you'll ever do. -SH**

Moriarty straight out laughed at that.

***lol, funny SherlyXD But, guess what? I'll touch MY pet as much as I want. Might even send you a video or two while i'm at it. -JM**

He sent quickly, his eyes alight with mirth and enjoyment; soon another message appeared.

***John is not your pet, Moriarty! And if you do not release him right now, you will regret it. -SH**

Moriarty could practically hear Sherlock hissing that at him, and it made him smirk even more-sending the picture was his best idea yet.

***No:) Maybe if you had shown THIS much concern for him before, he might still be safe and sound in Baker Street. You should really take care of your pets Sherly; never know when a better master might come along a spirit them away. -JM**

He smirked as he sent the text, knowing he had hit a sore spot in his nemesis. A message, a little slower than the others, came to him.

***I know what you are trying to do Moriarty, but it will not deter me. I WILL find John, and I WILL make you pay for everything you have done. You started this war by taking John, but I will end by getting him back and putting you in a grave. -SH**

Moriarty giggled happily.

***We'll see:3 -JM**

He sent quickly. After a moment of no reply, he shrugged and put his phone back in his pocket.

' _Seems like Sherlock's done playing._ '

He thought in annoyance, but then smiled as another thought hit him.

' _But that's ok, in just a few hours time I'll get to play with an even better toy-my Johnny-boy. Oh and I need to get a camcorder, better make good on my promise. Maybe i'll even add costumes for effect._ ' He thought excitedly, as he planned out the coming nights events. 

' _Sherlock thought just the one picture was bad, than he'll just love what I have in store next for my lovely pet!_ '

 

.....................................................................................................................................................................................................................

 

Mycroft sat at Lestrade's desk, looking over the footage over and over again, trying to pick up anything he could from it. His younger brother was due any moment now, as soon as he heard about John's kidnapping Sherlock had demanded a plane back to London that night. Mycroft sighed and laid his head in his hands, the last 23 hours and forty-nine minutes since John's departure, playing in his mind. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Previously~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Mycroft walked up the stairs swiftly, making his way up to John's room quickly. Once he entered he looked around eyeing and taking in everything. After doing that, he walked over to Lestrade, who was now awake, albeit still groggy, and sitting on the corner of John's bed. He sat next to him and gently touched the big bump forming on the side of his head.

"Are you alright Gregory?" He asked quietly, making said man smile softly.

"Oh! Yeah i'm quite alright Myc. It was just a small bump to the noggin, nothing to worry over. I'll be good as new in a few moments." He said with a forced lightness to his voice, wincing slightly. Mycroft nodded but put down in his mind to keep an eye on him. 

"Ok Gregory." He said softly as he began to remove his hand from Lestrade's temple, only for said man to grab it suddenly, pulling it to his lips and giving it a quick kiss.

"I'm serious Myc, I'm fine. Lets just find John before he does something crazy." He said with a grin, making Mycroft roll his eyes.

"Yes, yes I heard you the first time Gregory. I will try to worry less for your health than, does that suffice for you?" He asked indignantly, causing Lestrade to chuckle slightly. 

"Yep, that'll do." He said back quickly. Mycroft narrowed his eyes.

"Good, now may I have my hand back so we can get back important matters." He said as he looked away. Lestrade chuckled again, as he let go after one more quick kiss to Mycroft's knuckles.

"Sure, sure. Keep talking like that, and you might actually hurt my feelings." He said playfully as he stood up. Mycroft stood up soon after and walked towards the door.

"One could only hope." He said, hiding the small grin on his face-he needed to focus right now.

"Ouch." Lestrade said, his grin on full blast. The two of them then made their way down to the flats living area, their banter quickly fading away as their situation came back to them. Everyone was there waiting for them, some pacing, others sitting tensely. As soon as Mycroft walked through the door, Harriet turned and practically pounced on him.

"Well!?" She asked quickly, her inner fear and anxiousness obvious on her voice. Mycroft stood up straighter and cleared his throat. 

"We must find Dr. Watson quickly." He stated, eyeing each person in the room.

"I have every camera throughout London on high alert, and all of my best people on it as we speak. So that leaves me a few moments to debrief all of you on our full situation before the real leg work begins. I must admit I have not been entirely truthful as of now, and I intend on remedying that. It is actually essential that all of you know what we might face." He said quickly, his voice commanding and swift.

"What do you mean Myc?" Lestrade asked in confusion as he walked around said person and came to stand next to him. Mycroft simply looked at him.

"I am about to tell you. Moriarty isn't dead, and neither is Sherlock." He said quickly, and an audible gasp flew through the room.

"What!?" Many voices said in union.

"Sherlock's alive!?" Others asked.

"Moriarty!?" Was another one. Mycroft's eye twitched in annoyance.

"Yes, and if all of you would listen and not interrupt at every possible occasion we might be able to divert a potential disaster." He said sternly, his eyes narrowing. Everyone quickly stopped talking, letting him continue.

"That's better. Now, simply put, I helped fake my brothers death the day of his fall so as to make Moriarty's henchman believe that he was really dead, and stop them from killing Moriarty's three intended targets. The three people who he believed were the most important to Sherlock emotionally-as in Mrs. Hudson, Gregory, and Dr. John Watson. Now, afterwards, both my brother and I thought it best for him to stay "dead" until Moriarty's web was completely eradicated. But, throughout Sherlock's mission, it became evident that there was someone still keeping his empire alive, for, no matter how many sections Sherlock took down, another one would simply take its place. This made Sherlock being alive something that needed to be kept under tight wraps, because, if the person still running Moriarty's operation found out he was still alive he would surely use the three previously stated people as targets so as to bring my brother down. So it was decided that, until the leader was taken down, Sherlock was to remain dead indefinitely. It isn't till recently that we found out Moriarty was still alive, and was the one still running everything. This was discovered by a late associate of mine, who gave his life retrieving this information. And, not only that, but my associate also found out that Moriarty knew Sherlock was still alive while also discovering a large amount of video surveillance of Dr. Watson spreading over the course of months. This led us to believe that Moriarty was planning on using said doctor to draw Sherlock out of hiding, but had yet to do so. We still thought it best to keep Sherlock out of the picture, but Dr. Watson definitely needed to be moved somewhere, and out of Moriarty's reach. That was another reason I was so insistent on getting him out of 221B Baker Street and to a hospital where he could be monitored 24/7. But I misjudged Dr. Watson condition, and did not realize how desperate he would be to stay in this flat, causing him to run. Now he is out there, alone and highly disoriented and possibly with a madman after him." He said, a sigh coming soon after. Everyone sat in utter shock at what he had just said. Molly was less surprised than the rest, since she knew Sherlock was still alive, but no less in shock-some of the story was completely new to her. The rest of them however had no idea what to even say.

"Woah, well...that's crazy. Than we definitely need to find John before Moriarty does! I don't even want to imagine what that crazy psychopath will do to him if he gets a hold of him, especially with the state he is in!" Lestrade said suddenly, his need to protect his friend coming to the for-front of his mind. He started to move towards the door, as he pulled out his phone to call the yard, only to be interrupted.

"So you're telling me that Sherlock Holmes is still alive and that he has been this whole fucking time!? You mother fucker! Do you have any idea how much pain John could have avoided if you would just have told him that Sherlock wasn't dead!? My brother was cutting himself and falling the fuck apart because of his death, and that mother fucker is not even fucking dead!" Harriet yelled angrily, her short form filled with utter rage. Her eyes stared daggers into Mycroft, and, if looks could kill, he would have been dead thrice over. Mycroft, on the other hand, took her anger in strides.

"Me and Sherlock believed it would be best if Dr. Watson continued to think Sherlock was dead..." He was cut off, mid explanation by the same angry voice. 

"You thought it best? You fucking thought it best!? You mother fuckers, do you have any fucking idea what you fucking put my brother through!? Did keeping my brother in the fucking dark stop Moriarty from fucking watching him huh!?  Did not letting my brother know about your stupid brother being alive keep that stupid psychopath from thinking about hurting him to bring your stupid brother out of fucking hiding huh!? Other than making my brother fall further and further into depression, when a few simple fucking words could have saved him, what could possibly have been good about keeping Sherlock's survival a fucking secret!?" She asked in fury, her hands balling up into fists. She was so close to hitting something, and she was thinking it might just be the posh fucker in front of her. Everyone saw where this was going, and were trying to think of a way to deter things only to be beaten to it by Mycroft. 

"Miss Watson, me and my brother believed it essential to keep Dr. Watson in the dark for, if your brother had found out about him being alive, he would have most definitely went looking for Sherlock, especially with the state he was in. And that, Harriet, would have been most disastrous. Moriarty would have most certainly taken advantage of that, possibly even using John to bring his plans ahead. Now tell me, is that what you would have wanted to happen?" He asked coldly, making Harriet seethe.

"That's not what would have happened, Mr. Holmes." She said, her voice full of sarcasm on her last words.

"What would have happened is that my brother would have understood the need for secrecy, gotten better knowing Sherlock was still alive, and everything would have been just fucking fine! He wouldn't be cutting and hurting himself right now, and he most fucking certainly would not be out god knows where with a madman intent on kidnapping and using him for his own selfish agenda!" She shouted angrily, her voice cracking with emotion. Everyone looked at her sadly. Mycroft narrowed his eyes.

"Are you so sure Harriet?" He asked, making said woman bristle angrily. She took a breath to reply but was beaten to it by a calm but firm voice.

"Now,  that is enough you two." Clara said, standing up and walking in between the two to enforce her words.

"We're not getting anywhere standing here and arguing. Now, there may have been mistakes made these last few years, but that's all in the past. We need to focus on the present and getting John home safely. We can worry about everything else afterwards." She said forcefully, looking Harriet in the eyes sternly, then Mycroft's in turn. Harriet looked away, still unbelievably angry but conceding defeat for the moment.

"Clara is right. We have more pressing matters to attend to than mistakes already made. We have to find John before Moriarty does." Lestrade said, looking at Mycroft pointedly. Said man, gave a curt nod.

"Quite right, lets get to it then." He said briskly, as he turned and started walking. Harriet looked back up and gave Mycroft a cold stare, but kept her opinion in.

"Now come along Molly and Lestrade, we have work to do. Clara, could you please stay here with Mrs. Hudson and Harriet, in case John comes back?" He asked, stopping just in the door way. Clara took a breath to respond, but was cut off by Harriet.

"Like hell I'm staying here! I'm going to look for my brother! And you can't tell me other wise!" Harriet said angrily, as she quickly grabbed her coat and walked towards them. Mycroft sighed but nodded nonetheless, knowing he would not be able to persuade her other wise.

"Fine, Clara, do you mind staying here with Mrs. Hudson then?" He asked once more. Clara simply nodded before turning to look at Harriet.

"Be safe, ok love?" She said quietly. Harriet nodded quickly.

"Of course babe, I always am. Now lets go and find my idiotic brother." She said as she squeezed past Mycroft and started walking down the steps. Said man, Molly and Lestrade bid goodbye to the two remaining women and quickly followed her. As they reached the bottom steps they found Harriet waiting by the door impatiently. She turned to look at Mycroft with her eyes narrowed.

"Mycroft, for you and your own brothers sake, we better find him." She said bitterly, her voice filled with malice. Mycroft simply rolled with it.

"I have no doubt we will find him Miss Watson." He said quickly as brushed past her, opening the door and heading out into the dark night, his three companions right behind him.

Oh they would find John alright, but not the way any of them wanted, it was the complete opposite in fact. Exactly six hours, ten minutes and forty five seconds later they finally stumbled across a clue as to the doctors whereabouts, well solid evidence really. A video actually, from a camera situated directly across from St. Bart's Hospital, showing the kidnapping of one John H. Watson by one Jim Moriarty. After finding this evidence, it was no longer a simple matter of just finding John. It had now turned into a full blown manhunt to save the doctor before Moriarty could inflict too much damage upon his person, and Sherlock's heart.

Speaking of Sherlock, that was actually the worst part of it all. Exactly six hours, eleven minutes and fifteen seconds later from the time Mycroft and his three associates left 221B Baker Street, said man had to make the worst phone call of possibly his whole life; the only one rivaling it being the time he had to call the same person and tell him the love of his life was hurting himself because said person, in their mind, was dead. Three rings pass and a deep, baritone voice answers quickly.

"What do you want Mycroft? Calling me to cry about your failed diet?" Came the annoyed voice.

"Hello brother-dear." He said simply, not even trying to take the bait. Sherlock seemed to hear an underlining tone in his voice, because he immediately grew serious.

"What's wrong? Did something happen to John!?" He asked suddenly, his voice rising in pitch slightly. When Mycroft didn't answer, Sherlock knew.

"No! Mycroft you were suppose to watch him!? What happened!? Where is he...oh no...don't tell me it was Moriarty....Mycroft! What happened!?" Sherlock asked rapidly, in the most panic Mycroft had seen him since he had found out about John's self-harming.

"Sherlock calm down before you have a panic attack!" He said forcefully, trying to calm his brother down.

"I'm coming home! I need a plane back to London!" He said angrily, although he did sound less panicky. Mycroft took a breath to argue, but Sherlock seemed to read his mind.

"No! Don't you even suggest it Mycroft! I will not stay here and wait for you and your ignorant men to find John!" He said heatedly. Mycroft sighed in annoyance.

"Sherlock, that's exactly what Moriarty wants you to do. He is trying to draw you out of hiding by using John as bait." He said, trying to get his brother to see reason.

"I don't care! I would play right into the hands of the devil if it meant saving John!" He stated angrily.

"That might be exactly what your doing brother-dear." Mycroft said coldly. He heard Sherlock huff on the other end.

"I listened to you when you suggested I keep my being alive a secret from John, and then again the two, not just one, times he began hurting himself due to my absence, but I refuse to fold on this. If you do not get me a flight back to London by tonight, I swear I will steal a plane and fly there myself Mycroft!" He nearly shouted. Mycroft sighed heavily, but knew he could not persuade his brother otherwise.

'God! The disadvantages of sentiment!' He thought in annoyance. But then he thought of Lestrade, and couldn't help but imagine himself in his brothers place. If they were switched, he knew that, without a doubt, he would do the same for his love. And so he gave in.

"Alright Sherlock. I will have a plane to you within the hour. From there you should be at the Yard in sixteen hours and fifty minutes." He said tiredly.

"Good." Sherlock said before he simply hung up. Mycroft sighed and put his phone back in his pocket. In exactly 17 hours and fifty minutes, hell would rain down upon all of London, and Mycroft had no idea how to stop it.

"What have you done Moriarty?" He asked to no one in-particular.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Present~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Mycroft grimaced as he looked back up at the footage on Lestrade's screen, paused on the shot of Moriarty plunging something, most likely a syringe, into John's neck. He knew Sherlock would want to see it, and was dreading the moment. Speaking of his brother, he should be here any moment now. And, as if on cue, the door swung open so fast it slammed into the wall behind it, bending the door stopper and creating a hole in the previously smooth surface. 

"Give me everything you have Mycroft!" Came a deep, baritone voice. Mycroft looked up smoothly, completely calm.

"Hello, brother-mine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .Hope you enjoyed.  
> .If so, hit that kudo button so I know someone isXD  
> .Still looking for a beta-so you know, hit me up if you want too.  
> .Chapter three should be coming out in a about a week and a half.  
> .Well I think that's all.  
> .Bye my beauties!!!!!!


	3. Oh Sherly!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .SMUT with plot, enjoy;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .Hello all of you beauties!  
> .Sorry for the long wait, but the next chapter is here now, and what a part it is!  
> .Thank you for all those who commented previously, I just wanted to let you know I have read them and I sincerely appreciate themXD  
> .Also I've been wanting to say this; Harriet and Clara are kind of BASED, not taken, off how they are portrayed in the fanfic "Colors" by Quesarasara, but not fully, so yeah, that gives a little background on them.  
> .Now for the warning: This chapter involves SMUT and rape-since at least one of people involved was under the influence and not able to consent, plain and simple. So yeah, beware.  
> .Ok, what's next on my list...
> 
> Sherlock: "What! There's rape in this chapter!? Don't tell me it involves John!"  
> *Allonzy1998 suddenly turns in surprise.*  
> Allonzy1998: "W-what? O-of course not! Don't be silly Sherlock."  
> *Says nervously. Sherlock narrows eyes.*  
> Sherlock: "You're lying."  
> *John walks in.*  
> John: "Who's lying?"  
> *Allonzy1998 points in fear behind them.*  
> Allonzy1998: "Look, it's Moriarty!"  
> *Both John and Sherlock look quickly, but see nothing.*  
> Sherlock: "What are you talking about, there's nobody there..."  
> *Cuts off as he sees Allonzy1998 running away.*  
> Sherlock: "Hey, you get back here!"  
> *Takes off after her. John stays where he is, confused.*  
> John: "Did I miss something?"
> 
> .Ok I'm back!  
> .Now, where was I.  
> .Oh yeah!  
> .If you enjoy this chapter, make sure to hit that kudos button so I know :)  
> .Until next time!

Floating. That's the only possible word that could explain how John felt right now. So calm and in peace, like nothing could touch him in this realm of air. It was so different from the fiery heat he had felt when Moriarty had first injected him with that sweet, unknown serum, but nonetheless wonderful. In fact, for some reason, it felt even better. So much more quiet, so much more nothingness; like he was right on the cusp of dreaming and waking, in the middle of fantasy and reality, right on the edge of it all. And then that moment ended. 

He woke up, or if coming off a high could be considered waking up. His head still held a warm, fuzzy feeling but it was so far from the peace he had felt before. And, just like any good dream, he yearned to go back to its waiting embrace. After a second of gathering his thoughts, he looked around noticing small things here and there. He was no longer tied to a chair, or even in the same room as before for that matter. Now he found himself on a soft, downy, king-sized bed, covered in a rich, silky red duvet littered with white dotes, located in the center of a very expensive looking, red and gold decorated room. He sat up slowly, unsure of the steps he should be taking. On one hand he felt like he should at least attempt to observe his surroundings a bit more, but, on the other, he felt too incredibly tired to do anything but lay back down and wait for his captor to come back, hopefully bringing another syringe with him-he already felt the voices brimming on the edges of his mind. Eventually the latter won out and he laid his head back down on the soft pillow, trying to keep the voices at bay for as long as possible. He knew this wasn't right, that he should be doing something, anything to rectify the situation at hand. He knew he should be trying to escape this madman, and that he should definitely NOT be yearning for another shot of some mystery drug. But he just couldn't find it in himself to really care, and that scared him. He may not be a psychologist, but it didn't really take one to realize that something was seriously wrong here, seriously wrong with...him. 

"Why can't I feel anything." He whispered to himself, racking his tired brain for an answer. Then, of course, it hit him rather quickly, and he almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it, almost.

"So this is what it feels like to be broken, to completely and utterly hit rock bottom."

He knew it had been bound to happen after losing Sherlock, deep within himself he had known, but yet it still came as a surprise to him. He felt a tear slip out of his eye and slowly roll down his cheek, landing and soaking into the silky fabric of the pillow case, yet he couldn't remember feeling sad, just empty.

"Damn you Sherlock..." He muttered as more tears followed his other one, but not out of sadness, just because they did. 

"Damn you." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the flow of tears. Then the whispers started, inaudible at the moment but still very much there. He gasped, wanting anything but that. If they were allowed to break free fully, he knew he had no hope of fending them off, not anymore. He dug his nails into the palm of his hand, quickly drawing blood. It helped and the whispers went back to the corners of his mind, for now. He let out a sigh of relief and relaxed, slightly. 

"Oh, Johnny-boy. Is my looovelyyyyy little pet having a not so good moment?" A cold voice asked suddenly, making John jump up to a sitting position in surprise. His eyes landed on the figure of Moriarty who had somehow appeared in the room, standing only a few feet from the bed. He held a duffel bag on his right shoulder, his left hand resting on his hip in a relaxed fashion, his eyes solely focused on John. Said doctor, froze under that intense stare, and, unconsciously, drew his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them in defensive gesture. Moriarty gave a small smirk.

"Hm, Johnny dear, you're ssssoooo cute! I love it!" He said happily, giving a little giggle. John only stared at him. After a moment, he sat the bag that was on his shoulder down suddenly and jumped on the bed right in front of John, giving a slight bounce. He crossed his legs, folding his hands in his lap like a child. 

"So my pet, how are we doing? Hear any voices lately?" He asked, his eyes never leaving John's body. Said ex-solider grew uncomfortable under the intense stare and tightened his hold around his knees. He wasn't sure if he should tell Moriarty anything or not. After a moment of silence, Jim's eyes narrowed slightly, showing a hint of annoyance. 

"Now, come ON John my love, speak up or i'll simply take your silence as confirmation that you're not hearing things right now, because, as much as I lllooovvveee staring at your body, there ARE other more pressing matters to attend too." He raised his eyebrows suggestively as he said that, making John shiver in disgust.

' _At least I can still feel something._ ' He thought randomly as Moriarty continued suddenly. 

"Well if that's the case I guess I can just hold onto this particular dose of 'medicine' and use it at a later date." He said slowly as he reached into his pocket and pulled out an identical syringe and arm band as before plus a wrapped anti-bacterial wipe, studying them in his hands like they were the most uninteresting things in the world. John started at this, his head snapping up faster than he was proud of, you know, if he could still feel pride that is. He focused on the shot, his heart rate already speeding up slightly. He knew these were the signs of addiction, but, as before, he didn't really care. All he thought about at that moment was that sweet bliss of nothingness, that warm and quiet place of oblivion where nothing, no memories, pain, voices, or even Sherlock could reach him. Moriarty gave a small smirk, easily seeing the look of want that passed over his pets face, but he wanted him to beg for it this time, so he continued on as if he was oblivious to John's need.

"Ah well, that makes it easier for me. Now I don't have to make a whole new batch for next time, we can just use this one." He said with a shrug as he went to put the syringe back in his pocket. John practically stopped breathing at that, and he jumped up quickly, his right hand coming to rest suddenly on the bed while his left was held up in an attempt to stop Moriarty.

"Wait!" His voice rang out in desperation,  his eyes wide with more feeling than he had felt in the last couple of hours, days maybe, he wasn't exactly sure. Moriarty paused and raised his eyebrow as if he was surprised.

"Yes pet?" He asked, feigning confusion. John gave a shuddering breath, pausing a moment, realizing that his next decision would decide his fate. 

' _If I give in, there's no coming back. Oh God, i-if I willingly take the drug, I really will have hit rock bottom._ ' He thought biting his bottom lip, considering if it was really worth it. Did he really want to lose himself fully just to stop the voices, did he really want to surrender to Moriarty-he knew what the answer should be, that he should say no, but, that hadn't stopped him before. He knew he shouldn't have done a lot of things recently, but yet still did them. But this, this was different. If he decided to go through with it, and let Moriarty inject that into him, he was certain he wouldn't be coming back, was it really worth it. He had almost decided against it, was about ready to put his hand back down and let Moriarty take the drug away, right on the cusp of pulling away, then he heard a slight whisper.

* _Your fault_ *

He could barely make it out, but it was definitely there, making his blood run cold, and he decided that yes, it really was worth it. He looked into Moriarty's eyes and sighed tiredly.

"No please...I-I would like it now." He said quietly, his hand shaking slightly. Moriarty gave a triumphant smile, and he leaned in close, grasping John's trembling hand with his free one.

"That's all you had to say love." He said, his eye's gleaming as he gave a quick kiss to his knuckles. He then turned John's hand over, palm side up, and placed the syringe, band, and sterile wipe in it softly.

"But this time, I want you to do it." He said with a smirk evident in his voice. John swallowed thickly, uncertainty running through him. He had thought Moriarty was going to do it-he didn't know if he actually had the strength to put the needle in his skin and push the plunger himself. But, as he heard another whisper, even louder than the last time, he realized he actually didn't have the strength not too. He nodded his head slightly, grasping the three objects gently, the feeling of them familiar in his hands, after all he had been a doctor once upon a time. He sighed, resigning to his self-chosen fate. He took the band and went to wrap it around his upper left arm when Moriarty's voice suddenly stopped him.

"Wait, hold on pet. I actually want to set something up first before you do this." Moriarty giggled happily as he swiftly stood up and picked up his duffel bag, setting it on the bed quickly. John set his hands down in his lap, handling the band, syringe, and wipe gingerly as he watched on, not sure what Moriarty was going to do next. His heart dropped though once he saw him unzip the bag and pull out a very expensive looking camera followed by a tri-pod. 

"I want to remember **THIS** moment." Moriarty said, grinning widely and slightly unhinged. John swallowed thickly, once again wondering if he should do this, but not really having the will power to find the strength to say no. Moriarty swiftly set up the camera on its pod, adjusting it until he found the perfect angle and hitting record quickly. As he did he gave a pause and licked his lips as he stared through the lens.

"Oh pet, you look absolutely delectable this way." He said lowly, making John shiver, another bout of disgust running through him, the only thing he seemed to be able to feel lately. After a moment, Moriarty shook his head and walked back to the bed quickly, grabbing the almost empty duffel bag and setting it on the floor unceremoniously. He returned to his earlier spot, folding his legs like a child once again. He then looked at John intensely, soon beckoning for him to continue, after John only sat there. Said doctor gave a small start and swallowed nervously, looking at he camera and then back at Moriarty, unsure. Moriarty gave a giggle.

"Oh don't worry pet, you'll do great, I'm sure. Pretend like the camera isn't even there. Just think about how your 'medicine' makes you feel. How it makes all the pain and the voices just float away." he said with small wave of his hand, and a persuasive tone to his voice. John bit his bottom lip, but eventually he gave in-he had already decided to not drag this out any longer than he had too. He gave a sigh and lowered his head tiredly, quickly tying the band around his left upper arm tightly. He then grabbed the anti-bacteria wipe, ripped it open and generously ran it over his inner elbow, ignoring everything around him, especially the camera. Then, taking the syringe gently in his right hand-giving it a slight flick to make sure no air was left in the liquid, habit-he deftly pressed the point to his inner elbow, finding a vessel quickly, he had always been an easy stick. But he didn't break the skin just yet. He took a deep breath, gave one look at Moriarty but quickly glancing away. The madman was staring at him intently, practically dissecting him with his eyes and he couldn't stand it-making him sick on the inside. John pushed it away though, focusing on the task at hand. He slowly pushed the needle in, years of practicing making it rather easy. The push on the plunger however was a completely different matter. He couldn't help but pause once more, finding it a thousand times harder to start moving again. This was it, this was the final moment. He could still turn back, it wasn't too late to pull out the needle out and throw it away-something he obviously should do. But he knew he wouldn't, it was only inevitable he would eventually press down, allowing the drug to run freely though his tired body. Although it did come in quite an unexpected way.

*~ _Don't!_ ~*

The voices, clear as day, rang loudly in his ears startling him, making him push down the plunger fully. Almost instantly a warm, beautiful feeling flowed through him, making the voices disappear without a trace and he lost himself into the sweet oblivion. What was he thinking about again? He couldn't really remember; all that he seemed to think about was the all-consuming fire that now coursed through his body, making him feel so much better.

Moriarty watched as John's face turned from one of fear and confusion to complete relaxation and utter peace as the drug entered his body, and he shivered happily. He loved the way his love looked right now, well he always looked cute and adorable, but there was just something about seeing that usually harsh face become so completely...vulnerable, that filled him with a desire he had never before known. He licked his lips hungrily and reached forward pulling the forgotten syringe from John's slack grip and out of his skin swiftly. He then untied the arm band, gathering it up along with the used wipe and it's ripped wrapper, standing up and throwing all of it in the closest trash can, smiling all the while-John never even reacted, lost in his own little world. He then made his way back to the bed, picking up his duffel bag, setting it down on the bed once again. He quickly ruffled through it, finding what he wanted. He grinned evilly as he pulled out a pair of steel handcuffs, the real deal, and looped one end around his pointer finger, spinning it happily as he turned, looking at the camera dead on. 

"Ready for the real show to begin Sherlock? I know IIIIIIII am." He asked with a loud giggle, holding his other hand over his mouth like a teenage school girl. He loved the idea that, that stupid consulting detective was soon going to see what was about to happen to his, well now Moriarty's, beloved blogger. 

"I'm so glad I decided to record that little bit with him drugging himself up, it was ingenious really! I'm sure you're just loooovinnnggg it, aren't you Sherly?" He asked happily, giving a small twirl of excitement. He then stopped, giving the camera a cold glare.

"Isn't it funny Sherlock..." He paused, an evil grin forming on his lips.

"That by the time you get this, everything you've seen and are about to see, will have already happened and there's nothing you can do but watch? IIIIII find it hilarious." He said sadistically. And then turned, eyeing the still form of John, his eye's taking on a hungry look.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted him Sherlock. He was just so broken and shattered, it...was...is, just so beautiful." He said lowly, taking a small step towards the topic of the one-sided conversation.

"I have you to thank by the way Sherly. Without your help, I would never been able to have him like this." He continued, his voice becoming even deeper as he took one last step to his pet, raising his hand and laying it on John's right cheek gently. Said person shuddered slightly, the feeling of someone touching him causing a euphoric amount of heat to rush throughout his body. Moriarty felt him lean into his touch as he tried to increase the warmth within him. He smiled coldly, wanting nothing more than to take him right then and there. But he forced himself not to; he had a set of plans, and was determined to follow them on the dot. He set the as of now forgotten handcuffs next to the compliant figure and moved his hand away from John's cheek; said man, in turn, whimpering slightly at the lost of contact. But, before he could miss it too much, Moriarty grabbed him gently on the back of the neck with his left hand, setting his right hand on his rapidly beating chest. He leaned down, hovering over John's right ear.

"Lay down my pet, and i'll give you all the heat you desire." He whispered quietly into John's ear seductively, adding a little pressure on his chest to help move him along. John quickly complied, laying down swiftly, his head landing on the silky pillow softly. His eye lids were slightly open, and he stared at Moriarty but didn't really see him, just the sweet, sweet heat he was giving him with his touches. Moriarty removed his right hand from John's chest and over to John's right wrist, grasping it gently. His left hand quickly slipped away from the back of John's neck doing the same thing to John's left wrist. He then lifted them up, pulling them above John's head to rest right beside the headboard, the drugged-up doctor simply going with it. Moriarty then let go with his right hand as he quickly grabbed the handcuffs from before, moving up and clipping one side around Johns right wrist. Afterwards, he pulled the cuffs through a bar in the head board, coming back around and clipping the other side to John's left wrist. He stood up and studied his handiwork as John whimpered slightly once more at the loss of heat, causing him to grin. He leaned down slightly and put his right pointer finger over John's lips, making little shushing noises.

"Sh, it's alright love." He said comfortingly. John instantly obeyed, going quiet. Moriarty removed his finger and straightened up once more. He turned and then started walking, stopping at the end of the bed, as he reached up and started to loosen his tie. He slipped it off and set it on the edge of the bed next to the duffel bag neatly, soon unbuttoning his jacket carefully.

"You still watching Sherly, I hope so. you're going to love this, trust me." He said coldly as he finished taking off his jacket, putting it with his tie gently. He was now left only in his undershirt and trousers, but that wasn't going to last long, and he grinned at the thought of it. He started unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt as he slowly turned towards the camera. 

"You know Sherlock..." He began conversationally.

"I hope you weren't planning on taking Johnny-boys virginity, because, if so, this is going to be a bit awkward for you I would imagine." He said with a frown, although it did nothing to hide the cold smirk beneath. He finished with his cuffs, turning back to the bed and shrugging his shirt off quickly. Laying it with the other recently shed clothing. The pop of another button and the zing of a zipper being pulled down swept loudly through the room. Moriarty looked over his shoulder, eyeing the camera with a cold grin. 

"Well that's what I'm hooooopiiiiinnnnng at least. Plus a couple feelings of guilt, anger, fury, and possibly...arousal-after all, you're finally gonna see John completely naked and in the throws of passion, like I know you've wanted for quite awhile now." He said as he slipped his hands into the bands of his trousers, pulling them down slowly, leaving his underpants behind. Then he paused, and seemed to think about something deeply.

"Well probably, not. You're most likely going to be seething because you are not going to be the one doing it to him." He said with a laugh as he finished pulling off his trousers, putting them with the rest of his clothes. He then turned, looking at the camera coldly. 

"Well I guess that's just too bad, isn't Sherlock." He stated with a sadistic laugh. 

"Should of when you could of." He said in a sing song voice, as he turned and walked to John. 

"Now he's mine. And there is NOTHING you can do about it. I'm about to fuck the love of your life senseless, and all you can do is sit there and watch like a good little detective." He said with a deranged laugh, as he suddenly jumped onto the bed, and straddled John's hips with his legs. Said person moaned in delight at the sudden and brilliant heat that such contact filled him with.

"That's it my pet. Keep making those pretty, little sounds for me." Moriarty demanded as he ran his hands up John's clothed stomach slowly, making him whimper audibly in delight. He smiled a sick twisted smile, as he looked over at the camera one last time.

"Enjoy." he said with a giggle. He stuck his tongue out playfully and then turned his full and undivided attention to the magnificent creature below him. It was time for the real show to begin. 

He ran his hands up John's jumper and then slowly back down, loving the way he felt beneath his fingertips, but wanting to take it a step further.

"Oh the naughty things I'm about to do to you Johnny." He murmured as slipped his hands delicately under the hem of his shirt and sweater, pushing them up until they bunched up just under his chin. This left John's entire chest and stomach area opened for Moriarty to basically ravage at his leisure, although he didn't take long too long in doing so. As soon as he found himself looking at the exposed flesh, Jim lost some of his restraints rather quickly, moving his hands down to roughly play with John's perky nipples. Said man arched into his touch, moaning in a way that sent heat right down to Moriarty's dick.

"Oh God my pet, you sound even better than I hoped you would." He said, his breathing speeding up. And, without any more hesitation, he leaned down swiftly, taking one of John's pink nubs in his mouth, swirling it around with his tongue and giving light tugs every now and then, while his other hand still worked fervently on the other one. John strained against his bonds in pleasure, Jim's ministrations sending wave after wave of beautiful heat throughout his body, putting him deeper into a state of oblivion. Moriarty let the nipple go with a pop and started a trail of kisses and love bites down John's toned stomach, making him shiver in desire.

"Hmmm." He hummed happily, making Moriarty giggle against his flushed skin. He glanced up for a moment, looking at John's face, so peaceful...so beautiful. 

"That's it love, just like that." He said lowly as he giving a slow lick from the top of his naval back to a perky nub, giving it a quick, hard nip, making John cry out suddenly, from both pain and pleasure. 

"Just like that." He whispered once more, giving a gentle kissed to the abused nipple, before slowly sitting back up, his hands coming to rest softly just above John's belly button. 

"Do you want more love? Show me you want more." He said lowly, his eyes burning with lust. All he got back was small whimper of desire, but that was enough, that, plus the bulge that he felt growing beneath him. He smiled, as he suddenly reached behind him, grabbing the same bag from before, pulling it to his side, and ruffling through it once more. Soon he produced a pair of scissors and threw the now empty bag somewhere behind him. He slipped the cutting utensil onto his fingers delicately and gave a small giggle as he straightened out Johns sweater and shirt, putting them back to their previous positions. 

"Now don't move love, we don't want to accidentally cut you now do we?" he asked with a grin, which quickly turned cold.

"Of course...that's really not anything new to you, is it my pet?" He stated with a hard laugh, not getting a response from the drugged figure. Moriarty gave a shrug, he'll get one soon enough. He slipped the scissors under the the fabric of the jumper, starting a slow cut all the way up to the collar, snipping it quickly, making it resemble a jacket without a zipper or buttons. He then cut up the left sleeve, until it fell away from John's arm, quickly doing the same to his right one. Afterwards, he moved back down, following the same procedure with the shirt that was beneath. Once he had the two pieces of clothing completely separated he threw he scissors in a random direction and grabbed onto the fabric roughly, pulling it out from under John with more force than one would think he could posses. John gasped in surprise and pain, but the good kind, as the friction of the fabric being removed so quickly gave him a slight rug burn on his back. He hissed through his teeth, the burn causing wonderful heat to fill his already on fire body, making all his griefs even more distant in his mind, perfect. 

Moriarty grinned, taking in the now bare chest and stomach, eyeing the already bruising bite marks and darkening hickeys that where littered over it from before. He licked his lips hungrily.

"Oh love, your so beautiful. Everything about you is just so damn wonderful." He said as he slipped off of John's hips, putting himself between his legs, forcing them open wide. He leaned down, his hands coming to rest on either side of John's, his face leaning inches over the others relaxed one. 

"You're so broken, so damaged, and it's so beautiful." He whispered, leaning down, and resting his forehead on John's neck. Here he felt his pets rapid pulse on his temple, and it made his heart rate speed up. He took a breath, inhaling the scent of John deeply, making shivers run along his spine. 

"I'm going to have so much fun putting you back together in my own image John." He said quietly, before he moved his lips over the sensitive skin, his breath warm. John arched into him, loving the heat it let off within him, making Moriarty smirk against his skin. Then he practically went on he attack, not just nipping, but biting the flesh, almost to point of breaking. John moaned loudly, straining on his cuffs so hard, drops of blood appeared and began to trickle down his shaking arms slowly. Jim snaked his right hand down John's body as his lips focused on his neck intently, running over his still perky nipples, going down past his navel, stopping right on the buckle of his belt, unhooking it easily. After that, Moriarty trailed down John's battered neck with his lips, making his way all the way to the hem of his trousers, leaving deep bite marks and kisses in his wake. John was shaking with want and desire now, his breath coming out in short, heated gasps-it was almost time. Jim took the zipper of John's trousers in his teeth, pulling it down with a slow zing, his eyes locking onto John's face. There was sweat pouring down, and he was utterly flushed with want, sending even more heat into Moriarty's length, making him lose some of his control even more, well what little he actually had in the first place. He let the zipper go and sat up rather quickly, pulling the trousers off in one clean movement with his hands, taking John's pants with him, and throwing them away from the bed. Now the ex-solider laid before him, completely nude, trussed up in such a vulnerable position, and his cock hard with lust-he drank it all in, putting the image away in his eidetic memory for later. Moriarty slowly reached up and grabbed John's throbbing length softly, giving it a gentle rub. John threw his head back harshly, moaning loudly, as he arched into the touch-such blissful fucking heat filled him that he just couldn't help it. Moriarty grinned and gave a small giggle.

"You like that pet?" He asked as he gave another rub, this one slightly harder than the last. John nodded frantically, his words somehow finding their way into his muddled brain, making him react. Moriarty smiled sadistically as he suddenly reached up and began rubbing John's tight hole, making him gasp loudly. 

"Then you're just going to LOVE this." He breathed out as he quickly pushed in a digit all the way to the hilt. John arched off the bed, pushing himself down on the finger, and moaning like a whore in heat. He strained on his bonds, making even more blood run down his abused arms. Moriarty quickly added a second finger with no mercy, and began scissoring the tight entrance, his other hand still working hotly on John's cock. So much heat filled John's body, it was so fucking amazing. Never before had felt so good, never so complete, and he loved it. Another moment passed and Moriarty added a third finger, moving them in and out quickly, prepping John up quite nicely. After he felt he a sufficiently done so, he removed his digits, much to the doctor's dismay. Although it wasn't too bad for Moriarty kept up his constant massage on his hard length, still leaving him breathless. Moriarty trailed kisses up John's thigh, back over his navel, past his nipples, over his neck, coming to rest next to his ear, as he fervently continued his work on John. His other hand pushed his boxers down and grasped his own cock firmly, moving it to gently touch John's prepared entrance. 

"Are you ready for me to fuck you love?" He asked in a growl. John groaned in pleasure, wanting nothing more than for more heat to find its way into his body and make everything seep further from his mind. Moriarty chuckled darkly and he gave a quick kiss to John's ear.

"I'll take that as a yes." he said, barely getting his words out before slamming his cock into John, all the way to the hilt, not even pausing before pulling out and pistoning back into him again. He was certain he had ripped something, but he didn't care, he just loved the way John felt around him-so wet, so tight, so fucking good. John, in turn, didn't even seem to realize the sudden burst of tear-jerking pain as it was swiftly swept up and turned into a delicious white-hot heat. He arched his back in pure pleasure, pushing himself to meet Moriarty's thrusts as best he could, his body straining against his cuffs. He moaned, but was cut off as Moriarty suddenly pressed his lips to his own, sticking his tongue as far down his throat as he could, as he continued to pound him relentlessly, his hand working hard on his cock. 

Moriarty was close, so very close, only a couple more pumps and he would be there, and he knew John was right on the edge with him. He released John's mouth with a pop and moved back to his ear swiftly.

"Cum with me John. Cum with your master." He voice demanded low and stuttering, as his movements sped up, right on the cusp. John moaned loudly, the heat taking over all of his senses as he felt something coil right in his cock, just before he felt his end. Moriarty felt John clench around him tightly, and that was all it took before he was milking out his orgasm into John, as John came with a shout, his body going rigid as he rode wave after wave of pleasure. Moriarty pumped in and out of John a couple more times, his movements slowing before  he eventually stopped all together, his breath going a mile a minute, John in the same shape. He gave a quick kiss to Johns neck, before pulling out, cum and blood leaking out of the abused hole pornographically. He smiled coldly as he sat up on his knees, looking over his pet, taking in every detail. After sex John was almost as sexy as during sex John, almost-with his messy, tousled hair, and his skin a beautiful flushed pink. It was really quite alluring actually. Moriarty shook his head to clear it and he looked at the camera, feigning surprise.

"Oh Sherly! I forgot you where here!" He said with a giggle, as he stood up suddenly, quickly pulling his boxers up.

"I was just having sssssooooo much fun with my new pet, you completely slipped my mind." He said with a wave as he began putting back on his clothes slowly.

"Well, sadly, I must go. You know how it is running a criminal organization, always busy, busy, busy. Although I did enjoy this quick little break." he said with a cold chuckle, as he finished with his tie, turning to look at John, than back at the camera.

"I'll make sure to give John your love Sherly, you know, after he comes down from his high." He said as he began to walk over to the recorder, pausing just as he was about to hit 'stop'.

"Or not." he said coldly just before he pressed down on the button. Moriarty looked around the room for a moment, his eyes landing on the still form of John, who hadn't moved since they had finished their little exercise. He was now lost completely in some other world-the pure white heat of his orgasm having pushed him over the deep end, and into la la land. Moriarty grinned happily, as he walked over to his pet, leaning down and placing a swift kiss on his forehead. 

' _He should be good for a few hours_.' He thought as he straightened up and turned. 

"I'll be back soon love. Dream sweet dreams of me." He said happily, walking to the door, and opening it quickly. He turned, giving one last gaze at the prone figure and giggled, before turning once more, walking away, and shutting the door quietly behind him. And so he left John, bruised, battered, handcuffed, and high in that room, whistling happily as he went.

 

.............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

 

Sherlock paced around the living room of flat 221B like a caged tiger, as his mind kept going over every single piece of evidence he had. 

"A video showing Moriarty kidnapping John-no nothing there. What else..." He muttered as he walked, his coat billowing out behind him with every sudden turn. After a moment of nothing coming to him he let out frustrated sigh.

"Come on! John's counting on you! Think!" He shouted out, his hands coming up and grasping the sides of his head roughly, as he paused in his pacing for a second. He barely had a chance to think of something before he heard the sound of something ringing, but he instantly pushed it out of his mind-there was no time for such trivial things. He then continued his pacing with a new urgency. Another ring made it's way into his consciousness and he growled angrily. 

"Shut up!" He shouted suddenly, before pushing it out of his mind once more. He looked over at the wall, eyeing the only two pieces of evidence he had been able to gather as of yet. A picture of Moriarty in the midst of kidnapping John and a printed snap shot of the messages between him and the psychotic consulting criminal-he knew he wouldn't get much from them, Moriarty would have made sure of that. The only leads he'll get will most definitely be the one's that, that psychopath gives him, it is a game after all. And what's a game without clues? 

"Sherlock! Didn't you hear the door bell ringing. All that time away and yet you still haven't got an ounce of manners in that big ol' brain of yours. And you still haven't eaten the jam and toast I brought up for you." He heard Mrs. Hudson tut in annoyance, as she walked in, followed by Lestrade. Ever since he had gotten back she had been fretting over him constantly. He imagined it was due to her worry for John, she tended to get motherly during difficult times such as these. And, he conceded, she most likely missed him in his absence and she was glad he was back. But he paid little mind to that now, and swiftly turned to Lestrade, deducing quickly that there must be a new development for him to have come here. 

"What's happened Gary? Has something new turned up?" He asked, dread staring to fill him. Lestrade looked positively horrified, and he didn't even react to Sherlock calling him by the wrong name. 

' _This is not a good sign._ ' He thought, his eyes narrowing. But before Lestrade could respond, Harriet and Clara decided to walk in at that exact moment, making him pause-they had been staying at 221B since John's disappearance, refusing to go anywhere else until he was found.

"What's going on?" Harriet asked briskly, making Sherlock huff in annoyance. 

"If you would shut up, I'd already know." Sherlock growled out. Harriet's eyes narrowed in anger and she took a breath to respond, before gently being stopped by a hand on her arm. She whipped her gaze towards Clara who slightly shook her head, making Harriet huff, but surrender in the end. She crossed her arms defensively but thankfully stayed silent. Sherlock turned back towards Lestrade and beckoned for him to continue quickly. Said officer took a deep breath, not at all prepared to tell Sherlock the news, but seeing no other alternative. 

"T-there..." He began but was cut off by a clipped voice.

"A recording was delivered to Scotland yard a few hours ago, addressed to you, brother-dear." Mycroft said as he stepped through the door suddenly, having just arrived moments ago. Sherlock glanced at him, his eyes narrowed.

"Moriarty?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

"Who else?" The eldest Holmes brother responded, making Sherlock grimace and turn away suddenly.

"And I assume you've brought it with you." He stated rather than asked. 

"That would be correct." Mycroft responded, walking over to the couch and taking a seat. Sherlock walked over to the fireplace, his eye's distant but calculating.

"Has anyone watched it yet?" He asked quietly, making Mycroft sigh-he knew this was not going to end well.

"Only one Sherlock, and he was only able to make it less than half way through. Isn't that right Lestrade?" he looked over at his partner, who could only nod his head.

"The bloody bastard..." Greg began, but wasn't able to continue as images flooded his mind, choking him up. Mycroft frowned.

"It's ok Gregory, there is no need to say anything. I will handle it." He said calmly, before turning back to his brother, who was now facing them, his features tight. 

' _No doubt he has already figured out the basic content of the video, but he has no idea how bad it really is. From what Gregory has told me, it is more horrific than I even thought it would be._ ' He thought for a moment, before Sherlock spoke up.

"Give it to me." Sherlock demanded, as he walked back over to them, coming to stand in front of Lestrade and putting his hand out impatiently. Greg paused, wondering if he really should. The stuff on the recording was bad, really bad, and he didn't have the heart to see Sherlock be put through such horrors; he may be a right pain in the arse, but he certainly didn't deserve this.

"Look Sherlock. I am going to give you the tape, just...I do have to warn you. It's really bad." he said, his voice gruff. Sherlock nodded.

"And I'll heed your warning Lestrade, now the tape...please." He said quietly, making the head detective sigh. 

"Ok Sherlock, ok." He said in response as he pulled out a DVD from his back pocket. It was in a white case, with neat, black writing on it. Sherlock grabbed it from Greg quickly, and examined it. The case read...

**Dear Sherlock,**

**Here's a little gift from me to you! Hope you enjoy!**

**Lots' of love from Jim Moriarty**

**P.S. Don't forget to find the clue! It can be hidden anywhere**

**i** **n the video!** **So I suggest you watch it all the way through ok.**

**We don't want to lose your only** **chance of finding John, do we?**

**XOXO**

 

Sherlock gritted his teeth in anger as he read this, but quickly calmed himself down. He needed to remain focused. He turned and  walked over to the telly as he opened the case, pulling the DVD out swiftly. He quickly popped it into the player, making Lestrade start suddenly.

"Wait! You're gonna watch it now!?" He asked, his eyes wide.

"Obviously. What's the point in putting it off?" Sherlock asked in a tight voice, he was not looking forward to this. He knew that whatever was on the recording was going to be bad, and it scared him. Lestrade sighed, knowing he was right, but still not liking it. 

"Ok, but I-I can't do it. Mrs. Hudson would it be alright if I went and sat down in your flat until it's over? I suggest the everyone who can, do the same. You really don't want to see what's on there." He said, his voice tired and sick. Mrs. Hudson nodded. 

"Yes, that's quite alright dear. I think I might join you actually, I was never good with these sorts of things." She said with forced cheerfulness, making her way down to her flat. Lestrade gave a curt nod to Mycroft, who simply gave one back, before following her. Everyone else stayed behind. Sherlock paid no mind to that, he just needed to see what was on the DVD, now! He sat down right in front of the telly on the floor, not even taking the time to grab a chair. The screen came to life showing a frozen picture of a red, and gold decorated bed, with John sitting right on top. Sherlock took a deep, sudden breath. John looked absolutely horrible. His hair was longer than the last time he had seen him, and in desperate need of a trim; he had deep, purple bags under his eyes, and his face looked absolutely exhausted. But, that wasn't even the worst part, no, the real kicker was his eye's-they looked dead and lifeless, nothing like how they were supposed to be. He trembled with anger and almost turned to his brother to demand why he hadn't told him it had gotten this bad, but decided against it. The sooner he watched the DVD, the sooner he could find the hidden clue and bring John home before it was too late. And so, with shaky hands he reached up and pushed play.

"Oh pet, you look absolutely delectable this way." Moriarty's low voice rumbled through the speakers, making Sherlock clench his fists tightly. John seemed to shiver as his face twisted slightly in discomfort. A moment passed before Moriarty could be seen walking to the bed from behind the camera. Once there he threw a duffel bag that resided there onto the ground, before sitting down like a child, looking at John intensely. Nothing happened for a moment, then Moriarty seemed to grow tired of waiting and waved for John to continue, but what was he wanting him to continue? Sherlock narrowed his eyes, what was he wanting John to do? Another second and John looked at the camera, a nervous tone in his eyes, and Sherlock could barely breath. It felt like John was looking at him, that he knew Sherlock was right there and yet wasn't helping him, absurd, he knew, but that's still how it felt. Moriarty gave an unhinged giggle at John's discomfort.

"Oh don't worry pet, you'll do great, I'm sure. Pretend like the camera isn't even there. Just think about how your 'medicine' makes you feel. How it makes all the pain and the voices just float away." 

Moriarty said persuasively with a small wave, making Sherlock eyes widen in horror, as it suddenly clicked into place. 

"No." He murmured softly, not even realizing he had said that out loud. For a second John seemed to hold back slightly, even going so far as to bite his lip in indecision. Sherlock hoped he would not give in, that his John would not do what he was certain Moriarty wanted him to do. But a dread was filling him, and, a moment later, his dread was realized as John sighed in defeat, taking one of the, as of yet, unknown objects in his hand gingerly. He then quickly wrapped the object, which Sherlock recognized as an arm band, around his upper left arm, and his heart practically stopped. Only to restart suddenly in pain as John grabbed the next item in his hand, a sterile wipe, and proceeded to clean his left inner elbow, very focused, but in obvious distress. He looked like he wanted to do this but, at the same time, he didn't but was just too tired to fight anymore.

' _No John, please don't._ ' He thought in his mind, which was becoming unnaturally foggy and slow.  Another moment passed and John was suddenly reaching for the last item in his hand, but Sherlock already knew exactly what it was. As he lifted it up, his theory only being confirmed, making him let out a shuddering breath. John lifted up the syringe and gave it a little flick, most likely habit from years of being a doctor. Sherlock caught his breath as he then put the needle to his skin, wanting nothing more than to be able to reach through the screen and pull that syringe out of his hand and throw it as far away as he could, but again, that was absurd. John's eyes flicked up for a second, looking at Moriarty, before falling back down onto his arm, a look of disgust passing over his features. Then he pushed the needle in. Sherlock couldn't help but look away as he did, his hands squeezing his knees tightly-when had he moved them, he couldn't really recall at the moment.

' _Please John, please don't._ ' He mentally begged his friend, knowing personally how strong drugs can pull you in if you let them. He turned back to the telly just as John suddenly pushed down on the plunger, seemingly surprised by something. Although that surprise quickly faded as a dazed and relaxed look fell on his face. But, by that time, Sherlock himself had also zoned out. He knew this had all already happened, that his friend, his love, had already lost his battle with addiction and was now even further away from his reach. He seemed to lose all track of time, staring at the telly but not really seeing it. During this time, he only caught bits and pieces of the events that unfolded on the screen.

Moriarty picking up after John.

Moriarty producing a pair of handcuffs.

Moriarty talking to the camera suddenly-something about a show and asking him if he loved what he was doing to John, how absurd. 

A cold glare that cut right down to his bone causing an ignored shiver to run through his body-he was too lost in his mind to care.

More words-something about being funny.

' _Did he just turn towards John?_ ' He thought at one point.

He's been wanting to do this to John for awhile.

More talking-he finds John being broken beautiful.

' _I **hate** him._ ' 

He takes a step towards John, and he talks some more

' _Why is he thanking me?_ ' He asked himself, his heart beating painfully in chest.

His hands clench angrily as Moriarty starts touching John in ways he shouldn't.

"I'll **hurt**  him." He growls out suddenly. Did he say that out loud, again he couldn't really recall, or care for that matter. All he wanted was John not to be high, for him to not be at Moriarty's sadistic mercy, for him to be home.

Moriarty cuffed John to the headboard. 

He's at the foot of the bed now, he's undressing.

More words.

' _Of course I'm still watching, but that's exactly what you want, isn't it you bastard?_ ' He thought angrily, his teeth clenching together tightly. 

He's talking again-something about John and...his virginity, oh. Sherlock's arms fall to his side, hitting the floor with a soft thud. 

"No." He whispered in horror. 

The sound of a zipper being drawn down. 

"I **kill** him." Another whisper, Moriarty's words all blurring together in his mind now.

He's only in his underpants now.

He's walking towards John.

' _Oh God._ '

A sentence suddenly forces it's way into his muddled mind.

"Now he's mine. And there is NOTHING you can do about it. I'm about to fuck the love of your life senseless, and all you can do is sit there and watch like a good little detective." 

Sherlock growled, his eyes narrowing, but not having the strength to do anything else. 

Moriarty suddenly jumped on John, he's straddling his hips.

Did John just moan?

' _It's just the drugs, it's just the drugs, it's just the drugs..._ ' Sherlock starts repeatedly thinking for some reason and can't stop. 

More words from Moriarty's disgusting mouth.

He's running his hand over John's stomach.

' _My John, no. Please no._ ' He thinks as his breath catches in his throat.

And it continues, going on and on.

So much happens, but Sherlock fully falls out of reality by that time, only two thoughts on his mind-John and revenge on Moriarty. Yet, as he sits there, a blank look on his face telling all those around him that nobody was home, the video played on, showing in detail what Moriarty had wanted to do to John all this time. Seconds, hours, days, months, Sherlock wouldn't know, passed until finally the video ended. But Sherlock only sat there, staring, lost in his own mind. He couldn't think, he couldn't even breath, couldn't do anything. And then suddenly his eyes focus, narrowing onto the now black screen, but they held no anger, fury, or even sadness, only a cold determination that was, for some reason, so much more frightening. He stood up slowly and turned away from the telly, his hands coming to rest behind his back as he walked over to his chair. He sat down, his eyes still holding that cold look, deaf to the rest of the world as one thought ran through his mind on a continuous loop. How he was going to kill Jim Moriarty.

**Author's Note:**

> .Hope you enjoyed!  
> .If you liked it, please let me know also.  
> .My main goal is to make all of you happy as best I can-so let the ideas, thoughts, etc. fly (just no hate please-but constructive critcism is welcomed)
> 
> .P.S. Looking for a Beta, so if your good with grammar, hit me up on twitter (Must be able to get me to update often-violence might be necessary!)  
> .Twitter: @Allonzy1998


End file.
